Through the Bars of a Rhyme
by stripedheart
Summary: She was tall, lean, and blonde and Santana barely caught a glimpse of her as she bounced down the steps, but it was enough. BelatedlyBitchy!Santana AU.
1. steps out of the shade

through the bars of a rhyme

"_I've realized why I'm such a bitch all the time. It's because I'm angry. And I'm angry because I have all of these feelings— feelings for _you_ – that I'm afraid of dealing with, because I'm afraid of dealing with the consequences."_

* * *

><p>Santana glared at her reflection and bared her teeth in a sneer, her eyes flashing under the fluorescent lights. They looked a little dead, a little angry, and she stepped back with her hands on her hips, her Cheerios skirt twirling against the movement. The glare on the yellow tiles made her skin look even darker than it was.<p>

Her eyes narrowed.

One hand hit the swinging bathroom door hard. Two feet beat ominously down the empty school corridor. She was pissed, yeah, but she was even more focused. The auditorium doors stood wide open before her, gaping like the entrance to a monumental black hole. She strutted through, straight down the aisle, her Cheerio skirt whipping Artie in the face on accident, and stormed up the steps.

Her fingers closed over the microphone and she saw Mr. Shue stumble off the stage out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes narrowed on the Glee kids in front of her and suddenly, she grinned. She was, at once, almost sensual and almost feral. "Hit it." She tossed over her shoulder to the band. The drummer tapped his cymbal once and Santana rolled into the song.

"You hit me once, I hit you back. You gave a kick, I gave a slap. You smashed a plate over my head…" She drew the note out, a smirk blooming on her face. "…then I set fire to our bed."

The drums kicked in hard, flawlessly on beat, and the guitar crunch trailed just after and she let go from there, her feet recognizing the beat, her voice at the mercy of the melody. The music spun her in a sensual, aggressive circle and she sang _at_ her audience, the lyrics coming from some place deeper than she cared to fathom. Her fingers pulled the mic stand to and fro, her hips swinging. The threat of the song was in her intensity, in her glare, in the emptiness on her face.

The last note trailed off like a groan and she was standing back where she had started, fingertips trailing against the microphone. The auditorium was silent. She was out of breath and her quiet pants echoed in the stunned quiet. Sam blinked twice, staring at his girlfriend with wide eyes. Rachel had one hand over her heart, and there was a wetness that looked suspiciously like tears in her eyes. Finally, Puck broke the collective trance, shooting to his feet, hands applauding wildly.

"Hell yeah!" He cried, his voice cracking somewhere in the middle, though the blunder was mercifully ignored by the rest of Glee Club. They made it to their feet and erupted in a mixture of cat calls and hollering. Santana's face broke out into a small smile. She stepped off the stage and shrugged a little, a blush creeping up her neck.

"Thank you, thank you." She grinned, and then rolled her eyes. "Really. Please stop." Mr. Shue clapped his hand on her shoulder, his grin threatening to split his face wide open.

"Well, that was a heck of an opening number for this assignment." He was almost beside himself as he addressed the group, and her squeezed Santana's shoulder reflexively. Santana, half-embarrassed, half-proud, slipped out from under his hold and hurried down the aisle, launching herself into Sam's arms and accepting a celebratory kiss from the boy.

"That was so hot." Sam said, tightening his hold on her waist.

"Thanks, babe." Santana grinned back and leaned forward to give him another affectionate kiss before sliding off into the seat beside him. Rachel, half a row down, shot her a dorky pair of thumbs up. Santana rolled her eyes, but couldn't help her smile, and mouthed a warm 'thank you' to the girl.

Mr. Shue droned on. Mike and Tina whispered quietly in the back row. Rachel and Quinn alternated between glaring at each other and staring pathetically at Finn, who had snagged a seat next to Puck. He was sneaking glances at Lauren, who was thoroughly engrossed in her Gameboy. Mercedes, Artie, and Kurt reluctantly listened to Mr. Shue from the front row.

Santana, still reveling in the afterglow of a performance, snuggled closer to Sam, her eyes sparkling.

* * *

><p>Sam's room was quiet, save the humming of his xbox, and the lights were on dim. It was traditional post-Friday night Breadstix hooking up time, but, as usual, Santana only lasted a half hour before getting bored with the whole situation and slowly but surely bringing things down a notch. Her shirt was back on, his shirt was back on, and they were cuddling chastely on his bed. Santana pretended that she couldn't feel him against her. She also pretended that it didn't bother her more than it should have.<p>

"Your song was amazing." Sam said, curled up behind her on his blue-striped bedcover. His palm rested on her stomach and he pulled her closer. "I've never seen you be so…bitchy." Santana laughed and slapped at his hand.

"Just wait." She threatened, threading her fingers between his, before squeezing and pulling away. "You haven't seen me angry yet." She sat up on the edge of his bed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped that was aching straight between her bones. She bent down and started pulling on her boots. Behind her, Sam was still smiling.

"Nah. Hey, you want to watch that new episode of _The Walking Dead_ before you leave?" He asked, sitting up straight. An amused smile curved on Santana's face.

"Tomorrow." She said, standing up and straightening out her skintight dress. She bent over and kissed Sam almost indecently, her fingers twisting in his shirt. There was a slight hum in her stomach, but nothing that made her feel like she _needed _him.

She pulled back.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" He said. His eyes were a bit glazed.

"Yeah, I've got to go to my little brother's soccer game, but I'll come over afterwards." She promised, letting go of his now wrinkled shirt and heading for the door.

Quinn called her before she got out of the house.

"Hey, Q." Santana answered, slipping out of Sam's front door and taking the steps carefully in her three inch heels.

"Manhands is at it again." The cheerleader grumbled into the phone. Santana recognized her tone almost immediately. "You know, at this point, I could care less about that stupid man-giant, but she just wants him_ so_ much." Quinn blew a breath of air out. "It's exhausting."

"Let her have him." Santana threw out, sliding into her dark red convertible. "He's an idiot, anyway, to even _contemplate_ choosing her over you. There are plenty of other guys at McKinley." Quinn didn't respond, but her unspoken words held heavy over them anyway. _Yeah, but none of them are captain of the football team_. "Get dressed." Santana backed out of Sam's driveway without even thinking about it, swerving toward the Fabrays'. "We're going to go do something stupid and forget about dumb football players." Santana knew her best friend and she could practically hear the little smile she had on her face.

"Alright." Quinn said, and they exchanged quick goodbyes before hanging up. Santana slid to stop at a sign a few houses down from Sam's and was surprised to see a moving truck parked down the street. She tilted her head and finally took a right, itching to satisfy her curiosity.

They were all blonde and tall and tired, lugging boxes across an expansive front lawn. She was tall, lean, and blonde and Satana barely caught a glimpse of her as she bounced down the steps , but it was enough to make her pause. She looked about Santana's age, her hair braided behind her head. Santana stared but then the moving truck was between them and she was too far away to see anymore.

It piqued her interest, though, and she'd probably deny it but she spent the rest of the drive wondering who the family was.

* * *

><p>8 am was way too early to get up on a weekend. Her parents insisted, though, and her little brother gave her this pathetic pout, so she found herself dragging her butt out of bed and into the shower hours before she normally would. Her mother must have sensed the animosity oozing out of her pores, because she handed Santana a cup of hot coffee as she shuffled her into the car. Santana's brother, Armando, grinned up at her, his tiny soccer socks sliding down his legs, and Santana couldn't help but be a little charmed.<p>

The weather was already warming up by the time they reached the field, Lima's spring in full effect. Armando ran out to join a bunch of other kids sporting the same slightly-too-big uniform he was. Santana helped her mom set up a couple chairs and wandered off when her phone buzzed with a text message.

_You and sam going to see Rocky Horror with me and mike tonight?_ Tina asked. Santana sent back a quick affirmative and turned back toward the field at the sound of a whistle, only to run straight into someone. Her phone tumbled to the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The girl mumbled, her blonde hair flashing in the sunlight when she bent to retrieve Santana's phone.

"It's fine." Santana said, reaching out to grab the proffered phone. She had to tilt her head back a little to look into the other girl's face. Their eyes met and Santana got an odd sense of familiarity before the girl's gaze dropped right back to the ground. She started to walk away and Santana had the weirdest desperation to keep talking to her, but nothing came to mind and the moment passed. The blonde girl, eyes still glued to the ground somewhere in front of her, trudged away, and Santana found that she couldn't take her eyes off of her.

It took about a quarter and a half of what Santana's father called "ant-hill futbol", before Santana finally remembered where she had seen the blonde girl: moving boxes into the house in Sam's neighborhood. She literally sat up with the sudden shock of the knowledge and her mother looked over, concerned.

"Hija?" She asked, but Santana shook her off, her gaze darting back to the concession stand where she had last seen the girl. Sure enough, she was biting into a corndog, oblivious to the stares of the two prepubescent boys working the stand, and staring intently at the field.

Santana thought, for a few long, indecisive moments, of going over and introducing herself, finding out her name, but eventually dismissed the incentive as stalker-ish. That realization didn't keep her from following the girl's every move from behind her oversized sunglasses, though, her eyes trailing her about the field.

When the game ended and a rush of crying, exhilarated, dirty third-graders came stampeding toward their parents, Santana lost the blonde girl in the crowd. She bit her lip, oddly disappointed, but turned to give Armando a celebratory noogie.

* * *

><p>The weekend passed slowly. Most of it she spent with Sam or Quinn, or facebooking with the other Cheerios and Gleeks. She dedicated six hours to studying and homework. She was determined, despite some outward appearances, to get the hell out of Lima, Ohio, no matter what. Her 4.0 GPA, varied extracurricular activities, and the afternoons she spent candy-striping would make sure of that.<p>

She spent the rest of it laying around listening to the new Adele record and catching up on Grey's Anatomy. She kicked the soccer ball around with Armando a few times, although it only reminded her of how awkward she was at sports that involved balls, and she even offered to help her mother cook- twice – which resulted in some serious concern.

In truth, she was trying to stop thinking about the obnoxiously tall blonde family that had moved in down the street from Sam, exactly one neighborhood over from Santana. More specifically, the obnoxiously tall blonde girl who was part of that family, and who had also managed to run directly into Santana and send her entire weekend off balance.

On Sunday night, the clouds thundered and rain poured endlessly from the sky. Santana sat in her room and played old Britney albums, her history books laid out and highlighted in front of her. When it was finally time for sleep, she burrowed under the covers and tried to pretend she could actually stop thinking about the new girl and her new girl shyness and the way she had looked right in Santana's eyes for a moment.

She pretended, mind you. She didn't actually do it.

* * *

><p>The sky opened up the night before her first day. Brittany lay in her brand new bedroom, on her brand new bed, staring up out of the skylight. The rain was falling on her, but not hitting her. Her cat hopped up, settled carefully on her ankles, and promptly fell asleep.<p>

"Okay, Sharpie, but only because you helped me name the house." Brittany compromised, her voice barely a whisper. The sound knocked around her big white walls and fell back on her ears. She turned her face into her pillow, staring at the soft black numbers on the clock by her bed. She shut her eyes.

In the morning, the rain was still falling. Or maybe it had started back up again. Brittany opened her eyes to grey sky and a gentle tapping, and promptly shut them again. She contemplated making up an excuse to get out of school, but after the last "bamboo flu" fiasco it seemed too risky. Besides, she could totally wear her duck rain boots today.

It took a little cajoling, a lot of Sunny D, and her little sister's hand, but she finally convinced herself to get in her mother's car and take the short drive to school. When she stumbled out of the passenger seat, all of sixteen years old and tall and lanky and terrified, she turned back to her mother for a split second, biting back the urge to flee. The woman was already pulling away, though, weaving back into traffic. Brittany's eyes widened desperately.

Across the parking lot, a dark red, dirty convertible rumbled to an old hip hop song. The beat was familiar. Brittany, quickly and thankfully distracted, squinted at the car. The music stopped, suddenly, the door opened, and a girl just as slick and dark as the convertible and almost as familiar as the beat stepped out.

Brittany stared.

Three seconds later she was promptly slushied in the face.

"Nice boots." Rang out from someone passing her, a shoulder bumping into her roughly.

"Welcome to McKinley!"

Brittany blinked, neon red slushy dripping down her neck.

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts?<em>


	2. can't do the talk

Santana tapped her pencil idly against the rough exterior of her art notebook, silently going over the notes to her next Glee solo. Outside, the bad weather persisted. Sheets of rain cascaded down the dirty windows and Santana titled her head to watch the water streak away. At the front of the class, the teacher droned on.

Art class sucked.

She didn't know anyone in the tiny ten-person group, it was the second class of the day which meant her caffeine buzz had worn off and she wasn't in a people mood, and the teacher usually dressed like a three year-old with a penchant for Transformers who'd been unleashed on the finger paint. So Santana spent the class staring out of the window at the football field or half-heartedly carving a pipe out of a rather unimaginative piece of wood. It was nice and dark, though, and quiet. Sometimes she took a nap.

They'd been working for about twenty minutes when the classroom door opened. This was unexpected, as the classroom was on the far end of the east wing, otherwise known as the 'Geek Wing'. Needless to say, not many McKinley students wandered down there in the middle of a period without reason.

When Santana glanced up, her heart stuttered a little. She kept her hands firm and flat on her desk because reaching up to cover her stupid fluttering heart was a low she would not sink to. She frowned at the feeling, though, and one word rang clear through her head.

_Figures_.

* * *

><p>Trying to get the slushie out of her hoodie proved to be useless. The red dye in the ice turned the comfortable purple a nasty brown color, even after she had scrubbed at it for what felt like hours. Brittany stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to stave off the familiar urge to cry.<p>

She'd moved schools. This was supposed to stop.

She tossed the last of the paper towels into the bin and gave up. She'd been mildly lucky- the ice hadn't reached much of her hair- but her t-shirt was a goner. She could feel the material sticky against her stomach and it made her uncomfortable and angry but mostly upset. She sighed and zipped the hoodie halfway up, trying to recover even a little of her dignity.

Swinging her book bag back over her shoulder, she tugged her schedule out of her back pocket. The counselor had given her directions to each of her classes this morning, which she had dutifully scribbled down. Three ducks and then a squirrel- the drawing on her paper an exceptionally bushy tail- and then room number 30rainbow and she'd be there.

It wasn't as easy as it had seemed- maybe she'd left out a squirrel in there somewhere- but she finally managed to stumble down an empty hallway and find the right door. Deep breath, hand on the knob, that uncomfortable swirl of anticipation low in her belly, and then the classroom spread like an opportunity out before her. She kept her head down, ignoring the stares, and shuffled over to the teacher.

"Well, hello." His eyes scanned her note before he handed it back to her, smiling warmly. "I'm Mr. Reynolds and I'm afraid we don't have enough class time left for you to get started on a project, so feel free to relax over there until the bell rings." He pointed toward the back of the class.

There, near the windows, almost in the corner, sat the same beautiful dark-haired girl Brittany had seen in the parking lot that morning. Her face brought back the ice cold humiliation and Brittany flinched, involuntarily, before forcing her feet to move in that direction.

She slid into the seat without a word, trying to avoid everyone's gaze. The girl to her left was the same girl from the soccer field, the one with the pretty voice and pretty eyes, and she was eyeing Brittany but trying to act like she wasn't. Brittany stared down at her hands, folded neatly on her desk.

She wondered if she had locked her bathroom cabinet before leaving that morning. She was fairly sure that Lord Tubbington had been huffing her nail polish.

Finally, tired of pretending like she couldn't feel the brunette's eyes on the side of her face, she turned her head, catching the girl off guard. Her eyes widened and she glanced away quickly, but not before Brittany smiled sweetly at her. She thought it was kind of cute, all the staring, and the blush that bloomed on the girl's face when she was caught made it ten times better.

Brittany turned her gaze back to her hands, the smile still in place. Her day was definitely looking up.

Next to her, Santana frowned. A familiar sickly sweet smell had reached her nose and she crinkled her nose In distaste. Trying to be subtle, she leaned just a centimeter to her right and sniffed, hoping her senses were mistaken. _No such luck_. She sighed. That was definitely the sweet smell of cherry slushie and it was originating from the blonde girl sitting to her right. She sat back in her seat and inspected the now obviously stained hoodie. The girl's hair was light pink at the fringe and Santana was willing to bet that her t-shirt was colored the same.

She bit her lip, hesitating, and then finally reached out before instantly snatching her hand back. She debated for another minute and then, impulsively, reached out and tapped the girl on the shoulder.

Brittany tensed up immediately at the fingers on her back, an instinctive reaction, but then remembered the girl to her left and relaxed. When the brunette next to her didn't say anything, Brittany lifted her gaze to meet intense brown eyes staring back. She suddenly couldn't think of anything to say, basic greetings failing her, and just barely managed to hold the gaze, her stomach suddenly near her toes.

"I have a clean shirt in my gym bag." Were the words that came out of Santana's mouth and they surprised her. The girl mirrored the feeling, her eyes widening. The bell rang, signaling the end of class, but neither girl made a move to leave.

"That would-." The new girl bit her lip, cutting herself off when she noticed that Santana was already reaching for her bag. "Thank you." Brittany took the shirt carefully, and a sweet, bright smile lit up her face at this show of kindness.

Santana, momentarily awestruck, stumbled to find words.

"You're welcome."

Then, she stood up abruptly, shouldered her Cheerios bag and ran away. She had just reached the classroom door when it hit her that she had just given this new girl a _Cheerios_ t-shirt and Coach Sylvester was probably going to lobotomize her at practice that afternoon.

She frowned, but it didn't last for very long.

* * *

><p>"We could roofie her chamomile tea."<p>

This was just another in a long line of outrageous suggestions Quinn was offering as a means of outing Rachel from Finn's life. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Quinn, because that makes perfect sense. How is roofie-ing her going to keep her away from Finn?" Quinn frowned and set her tray down on the lunch table.

"I don't see you coming up with any stellar plans." She grumbled. Santana took a seat next to her. She considered telling Quinn to talk to Finn about it (and how stupid was it that their names rhymed? It was a daily nuisance), but immediately dismissed the thought when she remembered who Finn Hudson actually was. Tina and Kurt took a seat across from them and a light bulb flickered in Santana's mind.

"Let's distract her with something else. Puck's always good for a tumble."

"True as that may be, he's currently infatuated with Lauren here." Kurt tilted his head toward Lauren, who took a seat next to Tina. "I take it we're discussing Quinn's various plans to erase Rachel from Finn's line of sight?" Kurt lifted an eyebrow and Santana nodded once.

"I'm sure Lauren won't mind taking one for the team." Mercedes said, choosing her seat next to Quinn.

"That's never going to work." Quinn interrupted them. "She's learned her lesson with Puck. She couldn't possibly fall for that man whore again."

"Hey!" Lauren said, indignant, but the table shrugged their general agreement. Kurt piped up with another suggestion, but Santana was temporarily deaf, her eyes locked on a familiar blonde hesitating in the cafeteria doors. She watched as the girl scanned the room, ostensibly looking for a seat, before biting nervously at her lip. Santana bent forward a little, almost ready to call out to her, before realizing that she didn't even know the girl's name. The impulse died in her throat and the blonde turned away from the door, giving up.

Santana sat back, disappointed, and swiftly realized that the entire lunch table was staring at her.

"S?" Quinn looked concerned, one eyebrow crooked incredulously. Santana glanced down at her salad, then lifted a forkful of greens into her mouth and began chewing. She raised her eyebrows at the rest of the table, silently and innocently asking what they were looking at. Slowly, they resumed their conversation, Quinn quickly directing it back to Rachel Berry.

She couldn't help but glance back up at the double doors. She was sad that the blonde girl felt so out of place, and disappointed that she hadn't been able to welcome her to McKinley properly. Somewhere in those few seconds of staring across the room, she decided she'd find the blonde girl, soon, and make her feel at home.

* * *

><p>It was like nothing had changed, except everything had.<p>

New school, new house, new nicknames, new ways of making Brittany feel like she was missing something. She had thought things were going to get better, but so far they were infinitely worse. Someone had thrown a slushie in her face before school even started. She couldn't understand how that had happened and no one had cared. It was an ice cold beverage and so not meant to be in her face.

Then again, maybe not infinitely worse. There was that pretty girl with the dark hair who kept staring at her. It had made Brittany nervous at first, before she realized the girl was just as nervous.

Brittany tightened her hold on her book bag straps as she walked down the mostly empty hallway. Her second meeting with the school counselor had been long and confusing and left her just as confused as she had been earlier.

She was sort of tired of being the butt of jokes and insults, but she hadn't ever known it to be any other way. She was Brittany and when she said what she was thinking people usually laughed at her or openly stared. Her parents let her be, her little sister was thoroughly amused by her, and the world kept spinning.

Somewhere along the line, though, she had learned to keep those thoughts to herself. It had been too late to change her old classmates' opinions, though, and she faded into the background, disappearing into her unwillingness to be made fun of. This was a fresh start. No one knew her here. She was tired of being called stupid.

Somehow, though, they knew. She hadn't even said a single word! And they had slushied her.

It didn't seem fair.

She pushed through the front doors, nimbly stepping over the ridge on the ground, and out into the warm Lima afternoon. The parking lot was emptying out and she took a seat on the curb to wait for her mom. Her fingers found the soft grey t-shirt she was wearing and she glanced down at the Cheerios logo emblazoned on the front. It was a nickname for the cheerleaders at McKinley, which made sense because a cheerleader had given her the shirt. That cheerleader was proving to be the only good thing about her first day.

Brittany wrapped her arms around herself and looked back up at the parking lot.

* * *

><p>The sun was sinking below the clouds when Santana left the locker room, her gym bag slung over one shoulder, Coach Sylvester's words still literally ringing in her ears. She was bone tired and hungry and it took an effort to keep her head held high as she walked out into the hallway.<p>

She sort of hoped that Sam would come over later because she really wanted to just lay down with someone right then and try to recover some of her self-esteem. She knew the feeling would fade by dinnertime but right then she just wanted someone to hold onto to.

The front double doors quietly clicked shut after her. She was the last one out of the place, again, save maybe Shue and Rachel, who was probably still singing her little heart out in the choir room. That was how she liked it, though. Seeing the school empty, quiet, only her footsteps making noise- it made her feel like she had some sort of control over this place. She was wrapped up in those thoughts and walking swiftly down the breezeway to her car when she spotted someone on the curb, head in hands. Her feet stumbled over themselves for a second before she caught herself, her eyes widening.

The girl was blonde and tall and she was wearing a faded McKinley Cheerleading t-shirt and Santana couldn't believe she was running into this girl for the third time that day. She hesitated but finally forced sound out of her mouth.

"Hey, what are you doing?" The words came a little harsher than she intended; but, when the blonde girl turned around Santana was smiling kindly at her.

"I think my cat hid my mom's keys again." The girl said, and she looked thoroughly upset at the idea. Santana frowned.

"You mean you've been sitting here since school got out?" The girl shook her head and turned back to face the parking lot.

"No, I had a meeting with Bambi earlier."

"Bambi?" Santana's eyebrows went up.

"The tiny woman with the big eyes? She said I have to join clubs."

"Oh, Ms. Pillsbury." Santana realized. She set her bag down on the cement and took a seat next to the girl on the curb. They sat quietly for a moment, staring out at the almost empty parking lot.

"I'm Santana, by the way." She turned her head and the blonde girl mirrored the motion. Their eyes met and the girl smiled a tiny little smile.

"Brittany." Santana offered her hand and the girl looked at it dubiously for a moment before her eyes brightened and she reached out to grab out. They shook hands and a smile bloomed on Santana's face without warning. She could feel it straight to her toes.

Just then, a car rumbled into the parking, crushing gravel under its tires. The two girls looked over and Brittany stood up almost instantly.

"That's my mom." She was grinning, and she looked back down at Santana and then toward her mom. The car rolled to a stop in front of them and Brittany put one hand on the handle before turning back to Santana. "I'll see you in art tomorrow." She promised, flashing Santana a sweet smile. Santana nodded and stood up off the curb.

"Yeah, see you later." She answered. She stood there watching the car drive down the rows and out of the parking lot, the sun setting at her back. Eventually, she realized how creepy she was being and swiftly turned and aimed toward her car.

When she finally sat down in her Mustang, she wondered at the warm feeling glowing in her chest, at the weird giddiness in her stomach.

She thought about Brittany's honest grin and smiled to herself.


	3. laying everybody low

The skies were clear the next morning.

Santana slept late. When her alarm went off the first time, she slung a hand out and silenced it, mistakenly thinking she had hit the snooze button. An hour later, Sam's good morning text buzzed on her night table and she startled awake, blinking wearily at the sunlight creeping through her blinds. _Shit_. She thought, and rolled out of bed immediately, her alarm clock glowing 7:45.

She rushed through her morning shower, thanking god for the hundredth time that all she had to do was pull her hair up into a sleek ponytail, and grabbed a pear on the way out the door. Her parents and brother were long gone. She was in such a rush that she almost forgot her phone, ran back upstairs at the last minute, and, somehow, eventually made it into her car for the mad dash to school.

That was why, when she walked into art class twenty-five minutes late, she had totally forgotten about the new girl who would be sitting beside her. Her whole body was caught up in hesitation for a moment before she let her book bag swing onto the ground and slid effortlessly into her chair.

The girl turned toward her, of course, and smiled.

"Good morning." Brittany had her hands messy with glue and confetti, and Santana found herself staring at the paper strewn about their shared table.

"Morning." She answered, smiling wryly. "Were you really mad at this construction paper earlier, or..." She trailed off, reaching out for a mostly shredded piece of orange paper. Brittany grinned. She picked up a thick piece of cardboard that was thoroughly decorated with scraps of paper and glue, so that it almost resembled a pond full of ducks. _Almost_.

"It was harder than it looked." Brittany admitted, setting the artwork back down. She frowned at her sticky hands, a brief flash of irritation crossing her features. The glue had formed a thin white layer over her skin and random bits of colorful paper were dotted beneath.

Before she could think about it, Santana took Brittany's hands in her own and began to pick at the glue stuck between her fingers. Brittany promptly burst into laughter and snatched her hands away, her eyes bright.

Santana frowned.

"That tickles." Brittany was breathless with laughter and Santana's mouth quirked up in response.

"Well, if you hold still..." She said, reaching for Brittany's hands again. Brittany offered them willingly, but her arms were tense. The second Santana's fingers touched her palm she snatched them back, laughing. Her gaze was apologetic, though, and Santana merely rolled her eyes and titled her head toward the sink. "I think some soap is required." She gripped one of Brittany's hands and pulled her toward the corner of the classroom.

When Brittany squeezed her hand, Santana tried to ignore an odd little tingle at the bottom of her stomach.

* * *

><p>A hand flattened on the locker next to Santana's and she glanced over to see Sam, hair flopping against his forehead and a goofy grin plastered across his face. She smiled automatically in response, but she found that it stretched oddly across her face.<p>

"Hey." She closed her locker and Sam instantly reached for her books. "What's up?" Sam shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling.

"I've got good news." They were turning a corner in the hallway, Santana's hand lingering on his elbow.

"So, spill." She glanced up at his face and when she turned her gaze back to the hall, a familiar blonde head crossed her line of vision. God, Brittany was tall. She was frowning at her locker and Santana looked away, trying to focus on what her boyfriend was sharing.

"...so I'm going to start at QB for the first game of the season!" He sounded thrilled.

"What, wait?" She stopped walking suddenly and when he kept grinning at her, Santana threw her arms around him. That same sense of insincerity hit like a rock in her stomach, and she was relieved that he couldn't see her impassive face. She pulled back and before she could process it, he was leaning in for a kiss. His lips had barely brushed hers when she shoved him away. "Sam, could you-" Her eyes darted over to Brittany and she abruptly bit back her words and the harsh tone they were delivered in. The girl was still preoccupied with her locker, though, and had apparently missed the entire exchange. Santana looked back to Sam, who was openly staring at her. He looked hurt, standing there with her books in his arms, and she swallowed the angry words that unexplainably threatened to burst from the tip of her tongue.

"Sorry." She said, quickly and awkwardly. She was confused at the flash of shame that had burned the inside of her chest when he'd leaned close and at the outburst of hurtful words that had instinctively followed. Sam was still looking hurt, so she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, gently taking her books. "I'm late."

With a final glance into his eyes, where hurt was quickly being replaced by confusion, she turned and aimed down the hall, pointedly _not_ glancing over at the tall blonde girl a few lockers down.

She bit down hard on her lip, something uncomfortable broiling beneath her skin.

* * *

><p>The ceiling seemed closer than it had been a few years ago. Santana tilted her head a little, squinting at the off white plaster. Tom Petty strummed quietly in the background. It felt good to be all stretched out on her bedroom floor like she was seven again.<p>

"Stop fidgeting." Quinn instructed from her feet. Santana propped herself up on her elbows and looked down her legs to her half-painted toe nails. Quinn's eyebrows were scrunched up with concentration and Santana crooked a toe she wasn't currently painting. Without glancing up, Quinn pinched her, hard, on the arch of her foot.

"Ow, Q, damn." Santana glared.

"Don't test me." Quinn spit back. She looked up, stared straight into Santana's eyes for a moment, contemplating, and then dropped her gaze back to Santana's feet. Santana's eyebrow rose. She let herself down, eyes back on the ceiling, and waited.

The song changed and Bob Seger was crooning pathetically through her speakers.

"I broke up with Finn." Santana opened her eyes. She stayed perfectly still.

"Come again?"

"He wanted to sing another duet with Rachel and I- I told him not to. He said he could do whatever he wanted. So I broke up with him." Quinn was carefully painting, her eyes dead set on her task. Santana let this sink in. "What's so special about this girl?" Quinn bit out suddenly, abandoning her task. "She's- she's nothing and she's ruining my life." She sounded so confused. She recapped the nail polish and set it to the side, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.

Santana sat up.

"Finn's not your whole life." She said, carefully. "In fact, he's totally useless."

"He's not, though-" Quinn cut herself off and dipped her chin into the crook of her elbow. "He could- we could have something."

"Yeah, and I could have _something _with Puck, but _that's_ never going to happen. Just because it's there doesn't mean it's right." Santana stood up. She made sure not to smear her nail polish and reached over to shut off her iPod. When she turned back, Quinn was still staring pointlessly at the spot she had just been sitting in. Santana's expression softened. "Q?"

The girl looked up, her eyes quickly focusing on Santana's sympathetic gaze.

"Let's go get a Blizzard. We can listen to Ashlee Simpson and bitch about Rachel and her Jewish nose." When Santana offered her hand, Quinn grasped it and stood up.

* * *

><p>The Lima streets were mostly empty at 9:30 on a Tuesday night. Warm lights shone out of tiny suburb houses and Santana gripped her steering wheel, staring at the road.<p>

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Quinn sounded amused and Santana, startled, glanced over at her.

"What?"

"You were just staring at the road for the past, oh-" Quinn pretended to glance at the clock. "Seven minutes. Has Sam been developing a thing for loud midgets, too? " She looked falsely sympathetic and Santana rolled her eyes.

"No, that seems to be _your_ specific problem. I was just thinking about how many crunches I'm gonna have to do tomorrow morning to make up for this ridiculousness." Quinn just squinted at her and then looked back out the window.

Santana's thoughts went straight back to Brittany.

_The glue peeled off in long, stringy strips and Brittany crinkled her nose in disgust. Santana just squirted more soap onto her hands and told her to scrub harder. Soon, the sink was filled with tiny soap bubbles and Brittany's hands were soft and damp. Santana knew, because she had grabbed one when Brittany tried to flick bubbles into her hair, her blue eyes twinkling._

"_Hey!" Santana protested, swiping her fingers through the abundant bubbles and slinging them toward Brittany. The girl laughed and used the hand Santana was gripping to pull her closer. Santana, suddenly a few inches from Brittany's face, forgot what she was so amused about. Brittany used the temporary distraction to blow the bubbles on their linked hands into Santana's hair. She laughed happily and pulled away._

_Santana frowned, trying to look down at her hair to brush away the bubbles. Brittany moved back in, slowly and carefully, and Santana's eyes widened._

"_Let me-" Brittany pursed her lips in concentration and Santana was staring and that was really weird and then Brittany reached and touched her softly on the nose. Santana felt the tiny bubble pop against her skin, and then Brittany's warm finger lingered there. _

_Santana's forced her eyes to meet Brittany's. They were warm and welcoming and they did these amazing, awful, confusing things to Santana's stomach. Maybe it showed in her eyes, because Brittany pulled away and took their moment with her._

_She walked back to their table and Santana found herself staring at the empty space where she had been, wondering what, exactly, had just happened._

Santana turned into the Dairy Queen parking lot on autopilot. Something about the fluorescent lights and tacky plastic scene pulled her back into the present and she looked over at Quinn, who looked just as out of it as she had been a moment ago.

"Hey, Fabray, pick your poison." Santana turned into the drive thru, waiting for a response. When Quinn didn't answer, Santana smirked. "Daydreaming about Rachel again?" Quinn's head snapped in her direction and she glared, but Santana burst out laughing.

"Whatever, Lopez, you're dating the only lesbian at McKinley, anyway." Quinn gritted out.

Santana rolled her eyes and ordered for both of them.

* * *

><p>The outline of a pipe was slowly starting to emerge from her block of wood, and it was all curves and angles. Santana reached blindly for the sandpaper on the corner of the table. Her fingers hit soft skin instead and she brushed the tips of her fingers across it. She was fully engrossed in the piece of wood in her hand and it took her a moment, but she glanced up, confused, a moment later.<p>

Brittany was looking at her with warm blue eyes that had become familiar in the past couple weeks. She looked down at Santana's fingers, which were dancing across her wrist, and then back up.

"Sorry-sandpaper-" Santana mumbled and started to pull her hand away. Brittany caught it before she could go anywhere and Santana felt that familiar curling in her nerves. She had begun to define it as 'happiness' and she associated Brittany with the feeling. She felt the same thing, sometimes, when Sam was pressed close to her. She reasoned that making a new friend- someone she had almost immediately liked better than most of the population of Lima, OH- was making her happy, and she passed it off that way.

"You're going to die at sixty-three." Brittany said seriously. She was staring intently at Santana's palm. "You will adopt a small lizard after you move to Caracas." Santana smiled, despite herself. "You will forget how to tie your shoes and have to wear flip flops for the rest of your life." Santana actually laughed at that and pulled her hand away.

"Um, no. Flip flops are for slobs." Brittany pouted and Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, okay, I'm destined for the life of a beach bum." She found the sandpaper and turned back to her carving. She was carefully smoothing out the ridges of her pipe when Brittany inched her chair closer. They had secluded themselves in the farthest corner of the classroom and it was really unnecessary for Brittany to move closer since no one could hear them anyway, but she did. She smelled sweet and soft and her hair brushed against Santana's arm.

Santana focused on the calm breaths going in and out of her lungs.

"You know how you said you've never seen the last season of the O.C.?" Brittany asked. Santana lifted an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Well, I rented it last night. I was thinking, maybe, you could come over and we could watch it tonight, or something." Brittany was asking with her eyes more than anything. They were wide and hopeful and totally unnecessary, because Santana had agreed a few syllables ago.

"Sure."

"Yeah? Okay!" Brittany's face was flush with relief and she threw her arms around Santana in a bone crushing hug. The girl was stronger than she looked and she was firm and real against Santana, her arms gentle around her shoulders. Santana was frozen for a second, but she figured out how to work her arms a moment later and wrapped them around Brittany, squeezed once, and pulled away. Her heart was beating rapidly, but Brittany was still smiling, oblivious. She went back to her painting, leaving her chair only inches away. Santana tried to keep working on her stupid pipe, but with Brittany so close it was a pointless exercise. She grew frustrated and set the pipe down, her skin itching uncomfortably where it was centimeters from Brittany.

If there was a single thing she didn't like about her new friend, it was the way she made Santana feel, sometimes, without even trying.

* * *

><p>The leather in her Mustang was a familiar feeling, soft and yielding and smooth. She didn't understand, then, why she was shifting restlessly on it as she drove to Brittany's house. Her radio played softly but that grew annoying, too, and she switched it off. She was nervous. Which was stupid, because it was just Brittany. They were friends and it was really fucking lame to be nervous about going over to a friend's house. Santana couldn't remember the last time she's been nervous about going over to anyone's house, ever.<p>

The drive was unfortunately short and she found herself sitting in park in front of the Pierces' house a few minutes later. Santana sighed, once, and got out of the car. She trudged up the front walk, eyes dead set on the imposing front door.

She felt exposed in her jeans and flowing top. There was none of the familiar protection of her Cheerios uniform and the title that came with it. She resisted the urge to pull down at her shirt and lifted her head high, instead. She knocked once, heard a rush of footsteps on the other side of the door, and took a step backwards.

The front door swung open to reveal Brittany. All that nervousness just kind of floated away.

Santana smiled.

"Hey." Brittany held the door open wide for her, and a little blonde girl poked her head out from behind Brittany's legs. Somewhere further inside, a woman laughed loudly.

Santana stepped inside.

* * *

><p>Somehow, watching the O.C. turned into curling Brittany's hair turned into melting marshmallows turned into lying on the trampoline in Brittany's backyard. There was still a bit of marshmallow on Brittany's neck and Santana's eyes kept finding it, even in the dimness of the evening. Brittany was staring up at the empty night sky, her chest rising and falling in her thin, yellow v-neck. Santana turned her gaze to the night. She was looking for whatever had Brittany so fascinated but it was just the same old Lima sky. Endless and open, it stretched out and on until she felt tiny.<p>

She turned her head back towards Brittany and found that the other girl was staring at her.

"It's quiet out here." Brittany's voice was low. Santana blinked. Her body seemed unwilling to respond in any other way. "Too quiet." Brittany continued. Beneath them, Santana heard Brittany's little sister crawling around in the grass. "Let's turn on some music."

Brittany rolled off the trampoline and crouched on the ground. She growled at her sister who tackled her with a hug. They fell onto the lawn, laughing, and Santana rolled onto her stomach to watch them. Brittany swung Annie onto her back and jogged off to the stereo on the back porch.

Santana was utterly content on that trampoline with the world stretching about her forever.

Iron and Wine's _Tree by the River_ floated out over the speakers. It took Santana a second to recognize it- that was Quinn's music, not hers –but when she did, she was surprised. Brittany had pulled Annie onto her shoulders and she was practically skipping back out to the trampoline.

"Dance, Brit, dance!" Annie was squealing in excitement. Brittany hesitated and her eyes found Santana's across the yard, but she let Annie down. She twirled her once beneath her hand and let her spin out, the small girl laughing breathlessly. With one more glance toward Santana, Brittany lifted her arms up over her head. The movement was so effortlessly natural that Santana held her breath in anticipation.

Then, Brittany started to dance.

Santana suddenly realized what those lean, long legs were for.

It was like a puzzle piece falling into place. The graceful way Brittany walked, her long arms and legs, her gentleness- it all translated into her dancing. It was classic and lovely and it seemed never ending. Brittany spun in slow circles and leapt, once, high into the air. Annie sat cross legged, watching in awe.

Brittany slowed to a stop with the end of the song, a little out of breath. Her skin was flushed beautifully.

Santana had absolutely no words.

Annie hurtled back into Brittany's arms. Brittany scooped her up, but her gaze never left Santana's. She was standing in the dark in the green grass, the glow from the house lighting her up, her blonde hair glowing. She stared unabashedly at Santana, whose eyes were still wide and honest.

They understood each other perfectly in that one moment.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading, I'd love to know what you think!<em>


	4. just the same

Santana spent the weekend texting Brittany, avoiding Sam, and studying for some ridiculous AP Biology exam on Monday. She may or may not have looked Brittany up on YouTube and watched the girl move in ways she literally thought were impossible and should also probably be illegal. Not only could Brittany dance, but the girl could flip, too, like she had tiny trampolines taped to her tennis shoes. The little kids in the video stared at her with such unadulterated awe and respect it was closing in on disgusting.

That's why, when Santana strolled into school Monday morning on Sam's arm and turned a corner just in time to see some stupid hockey jock slushie Brittany right in the face, her first reaction was disbelief.

Her second reaction was to murmur some excuse to Sam and swiftly follow Brittany down the hall and deep into McKinley.

Later, she wished that second reaction had been her fists.

* * *

><p>Santana's hands were sticky and dyed red, a brand new experience for her. She felt the sickly sweet smell burning into her skin, like the cheapest perfume she'd ever touched.<p>

Brittany stood drenched in front of her, miserable and stoic. Santana felt awful to the tips of her toes as she carefully brushed away lumps of freezing slushie from the girl's shoulders. They were hidden away in an empty bathroom, the stall locked securely after them.

Santana's formerly pristine white Cheerio sneakers stood next to Brittany's bright purple Chucks, both pairs stained by drips of bright red slushie. Chunks of ice slid from Brittany's hair down to her shirt, leaving angry red trails like veins against her skin.

"I'm sorry." Santana said, again. Her fingers were soft and careful as she brushed the paper towel against Brittany's skin. It was almost like she couldn't bear to touch Brittany.

"I know, Santana. It's not your fault." Brittany tried to catch Santana's eyes with her own, but the girl was staring intently at the red in her hair and avoiding her gaze. "Santana." Brittany said once, and their eyes finally met.

Santana's were guilty and embarrassed, but Brittany wouldn't let her look away.

"I'll be fine. It tastes kind of good, anyway." Brittany lied, a small, tired smile forming on her mouth. They stared at each other for a moment, a battle of some sort, though neither knew just what they were fighting.

"Join the Cheerios." Santana said. Her hand paused on Brittany's collarbone. Brittany tilted her head. "You won't get slushied ever again. And we can hang out at practices. Plus, you can dance." Her gaze was serious and Brittany nodded once.

"Okay. Can I drive your sweet ass car to football games sometimes?" Brittany asked. Santana smiled affectionately, the feeling warm in her eyes.

"You can drive my sweet ass car for no reason at all." She promised. The last of the slushie splattered from Brittany's collar to the ground, splashing red onto Santana's calves and Brittany's jeans.

"Oops." Brittany said, grimacing. She tucked her fingers under her shirt, ready to strip it off, and Santana suddenly realized the stall was just really tiny and she should probably get out, like now- She fumbled with the door handle, but managed to escape.

She just barely caught of glimpse of Brittany in the mirror, unabashedly stripping her top off, and wondered why her face had suddenly turned fifteen shades darker.

* * *

><p>It had gotten dark without either of them realizing it. The windows in the room stood like inky mirrors along the wall, the wooden floors and the glare on them glowing in the squares, reflected back and to infinity against the floor length mirrors on the other side of the room. Brittany was digging in her bag when Santana turned to her.<p>

"Hey, we should run it one more time and head out. It's getting late." Santana tried to shrug away the exposed feeling that was creeping up her spine. Brittany unscrewed the top of her water bottle and stood up in one long, graceful motion.

Since Santana had discovered that Brittany was a dancer, she felt kind of ridiculously dumb for not noticing it before. All Brittany _did_ was dance.

"Okay, let's do that last number one more time." They had been practicing for two days now and it shouldn't have surprised Santana, but Brittany picked up the routines effortlessly. Brittany tossed the bottle back in her bag, hit a button on the CD player, and skipped over to Santana, spinning her so she could look at them both in the mirror.

Santana stood a couple inches shorter than Brittany, but she was dark and smoky where Brittany was soft and blonde. They stood, Brittany smiling, Santana staring, something in her gaze unsure, until the music kicked in. Then, not for the first time that night, Brittany took her by surprise.

It wasn't one of the Cheerio mixes they'd been practicing for the past couple hours. It was some dirty, bumping hip hop song that made her think about dancing at one of Puck's 'parties' and all the CDs she hid from her mom in her car. Brittany caught her gaze, her eyes playful for a moment before turning utterly focused. Her body snapped into place, her arms popping up.

Santana flushed without really thinking about it and took a step back.

Brittany was sweet, unassuming and kind- but this dance was none of these things. Santana had seen great dancers. She had also seen Brittany dance enough to recognize her natural style. This was something way beyond that. Her movements were utterly technical and composed. Brittany had turned to the mirror and Santana watched her blonde hair swirl, her body snapping into position without hesitation.

The rap turned unexpectedly smooth, the hook kicking in like a smoky night, and Brittany was suddenly in front of her, one hand held out.

The focus and certainty hadn't left her gaze and Santana found it impossible to resist.

She was nowhere near the dancer that Brittany was, but when the girl was spinning her close and rocking their hips, she could almost fake it. Brittany's fingertips barely brushed Santana's waist, but they felt like bits of fire against her skin. This close, Santana could smell her, something sweet and light, and it mixed in with the softness of her bare skin. It was an altogether intoxicating experience and it terrified Santana straight to the bone. That adrenaline left her shaking and completely pliable to Brittany's hands.

She found herself in front of Brittany, the girl's fingertips soft against the bare skin of her hips. They drug her down, moving her body sensually to the sound, her heart beating an uneven rhythm in time. Brittany's hands danced up Santana's sides and ran quickly down her arms before entangling their fingertips, pulling her closer. Brittany pressed their hands to Santana's stomach, just above her hipbones.

Santana could hear Brittany just behind her, panting a little with the exertion, closing the gap between them by millimeters. There was an awful squirming in her stomach and lightness in her legs and she couldn't find it in her to move or respond or flee. She just let it happen, watching, almost horrified, as Brittany erased the distance and they were left basically _grinding_, hips rocking slowly to the beat, pressed so tight. Brittany's cheek brushed her ear and Santana _felt_ her breathe in, about to speak, and suddenly they were too exposed and too open and she pulled away, dropping Brittany's hands like they hurt it.

It didn't help any. She still felt helpless and bereft even after she had put a good five feet of distance between them.

"San?" Brittany's voice was a little lost. Santana took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to take normal steps toward the opposite end of the room.

"What was that?" Santana tried to make her voice light, but even she could hear the tightness in it. Brittany padded over to her.

"I hit the wrong button on the CD player, I think." Brittany shrugged. She sat down on the floor next to her bag. "It was a routine for my last hip hop class. Did you like it?" She was smiling at Santana, looking a little shy and a little amused. Santana's heart was still stuttering but she managed to nod.

"You're amazing." She said, honestly, the flush on her cheeks darkening.

Their eyes met and Santana watched Brittany's warm into happiness, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. She wished she could wash away the awful thrill under her skin because it was the only thing keeping her from being perfectly happy in that moment.

* * *

><p>"Sorry I couldn't come over last night." Sam mumbled from behind a mouthful of ham sandwich. His warm hand landed on her knee and he squeezed, once. "Coach has been keeping me late so I can pick up the plays before the season starts." Santana shrugged. She was staring out at the empty football field, the sun hitting the white lines almost painfully. Her protein milkshake sat forgotten by her right hand.<p>

"It's fine." She thought about telling him that she had been at Brittany's house last night, anyway, but the words didn't seem to want to form and she just looked away instead. He was watching her face intently. He swallowed the last of his lunch and she braced herself.

"Are you okay? You seem a little...stressed out lately." She didn't look into his eyes because she knew what she would see there: compassion, affection, concern. He was right, though. She had been distant and cold and mostly frustrated over the past week. She wished she could put a name to it, but the word sat on the back of her tongue, in the recesses of her brain. She had been spending all of her time with Brittany, but neglected to tell her best friend or her boyfriend that the girl even existed.

"I'm fine." She said, reaching down for her milkshake and taking a sip just to avoid the questions she knew he would have. He seemed to hesitate, but finally accepted her answer. She stole a glance at him. He used to hold such an appeal for her. He was handsome, that was obvious. She thought, maybe, she was falling in love with him. Falling in love with someone, _finally_. But the same old discontent was creeping in and he no longer seemed like such a prize.

She was starting to resent him because he couldn't make her feel the way she wanted to. She wanted to flush at his touch or get excited when he called. She didn't want true love, or some stupid garbage like romance, she just wanted to get turned on when her boyfriend's hands ran down her sides. It was painfully frustrating.

"Let's go to class." She said. She was tired of the silence brewing between them.

* * *

><p>"He's been so needy." Santana spit out in a whisper, her voice easily carrying past two desks to Quinn's ears. The classroom was dim and the projector flickered at the front, shining some old film onto the wall. Santana was slumped in her seat, arms folded across her chest, eyes leveled. They shared the last row in the back of AP Western Civilizations and they spent the majority of it pretending like they weren't actually there.<p>

"At least he _cares_." Quinn shot back. Something about the statement rang oddly in Santana's head.

"Yeah, but what if I don't?" Santana mused out loud. She turned her head to judge Quinn's expression.

"Look, he's not cheating- he's not even interested in anybody else. Just give it some time." Quinn suggested, her words pointed. "Maybe you're just coming out of the honeymoon stage." The truth was, Quinn recognized Santana's words for what they were: confusion. She'd seen Santana go through the same thing with every boy she'd ever dated. There were easily recognized stages: affection, familiarity, annoyance, resentment. Somewhere in the last two, the relationship would inevitably end and Santana would be on the ready again, looking for someone else to occupy her time. Quinn wondered if anyone in Lima would ever be good enough for Santana, but at the same time she had a creeping feeling she knew what was really going on.

"I don't think-"

"Santana, Quinn, I am sorry to interrupt but I would really like to take somewhat coherent notes on the film we are currently _supposed_ to be watching, so if you wouldn't mind saving your personal conversation for a more appropriate venue, I would greatly appreciate it."

Two pairs of eyes leveled on Rachel Berry, who was bent over her notes in the desk that separated the two Cheerios.

"Look, Berry-." Quinn started, the acid in her voice already biting through the air.

"Sorry, Rachel." Santana quickly interrupted, rolling her eyes a little. "But this is way more important than a stupid video on peanuts our teacher is sleeping through." She flicked her gaze toward their teacher, who was in fact face down on his desk. Rachel looked about ready to argue this point, but Santana gave her a look. She shut her mouth abruptly, thinking better of it.

"Fine. But I believe I may be of some help here." She hesitated, clearly aware of Quinn's unfaltering glare at the back of her head. "I have noticed you've become friends with the new girl, Brittany Pierce, and if I may be so-"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Santana cut her off, the harshness of her tone surprising even herself. Quinn looked up, curious, and even Rachel looked a bit taken aback. Santana's fierce gaze suddenly melted to blank.

"I merely meant-"

"What is Manhands talking about?" Quinn asked, tilting her head just a fraction.

"Brittany", Santana waved her hand dismissively. "She's in my art class and I've been showing her around." Quinn gaze had narrowed with suspicion.

"Why have I not heard about this yet?" She iced. Santana refused to drop her gaze, but she recognized the look in Quinn's eyes and the firm set of her shoulders.

"Because she's not really important. To get back on subject, Sam and I are supposed to have picnic Thursday night and I don't think I can-"

"No, let's stay on this one. Why do you look so cornered?"

"I agree with Quinn." Rachel added. She was also inspecting Santana like some sort of experiment. "You do look rather flustered." Santana huffed and rolled her eyes, turning away from the two girls.

"I don't look like anything, I'm just stressed about Sam. Anyway, Quinn, it's not my fault you don't know who she is- she's trying out for Cheerios this afternoon. I guess your position as head Cheerio must be slipping." She sent one challenging look Quinn's way and watched as the girl's eyes narrowed.

She surprised herself, sometimes, with how unerringly cruel her insults could be. It was beginning to become less of a shock, though, because it seemed like she needed to toss one out every day now.

Quinn was silent, though, and she counted that as one simple blessing.

* * *

><p>The sun was setting slowly on the fence across the football field. Santana picked idly at her fingernails, the muscles in her shoulders tense. She was perched on the railing of the bleachers, her white cheerleading trainers planted flat against the metal fencing. It creaked when her feet pressed down. Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling under the edge of the bar, and her eyes found Quinn across the field. She was completely still, her back ramrod straight.<p>

Santana could practically smell the fear radiating off of the freshmen kneeling before her.

The rest of the Cheerios were already inside, relieved to be finished an hour early for the first time in their careers. Coach Sylvester had 'fresh meat to fry', or something similar to that statement. Anyway, she'd disappeared, leaving Quinn to mercilessly destroy the freshmen in her wake.

Santana was waiting, patiently. Or, not so patiently, if you judged by the way her legs were swinging restlessly in the wind, her fingernails tapping softly against the aluminum.

Tennis shoes sounded lightly against the steps and Santana turned, her entire body relaxing when she saw Brittany bouncing toward her.

"I'm in!" The girl laughed, but that fact was evident by the bright white and red Cheerios uniform tight on her body. It took Santana about two seconds to swing onto the ground and catch Brittany in her arms. The girl was heavier than she looked, but Santana was stronger, and when Brittany wrapped endlessly long legs around her waist, Santana held her up and close. Brittany was laughing in her ear when Santana finally spun to a stop and let the girl slide down. Santana grinned brilliantly and they stared at each other for a moment, that same tension seeping between them. It hung like a shroud around them, hiding them from view.

The tension was beginning to feel comfortable. Maybe, even- right.

Santana just stepped forward and wrapped Brittany in another hug, knowing, somewhere, that was all she could do.

"Do we really have to drink protein shakes for every other meal?" Brittany asked, her nose crinkling up in distaste when they finally separated. Santana nodded as they turned to walk away from the bleachers.

"It's not so bad." She said, reaching blindly for Brittany's hand without thinking about it. At the last moment, that familiar fear manifested and she hesitated. Their pinkies brushed, though, and Brittany wound hers around Santana's. The resulting thrill shot straight down to Santana's toes and back up again. Her ears felt warm. "You want to come over? We can run through some of the routines again." Brittany nodded.

Santana wasn't sure why Brittany's pinky linked with hers was making her feel free, but the reason behind all of it was beginning to crystallize in her mind. She felt daring and exposed in the middle of the football field, but content and thrilled in the same moment. Fuck if these feelings weren't unusual for her but strangely similar to something she'd heard about, somewhere.

The word spun through her head before she could snap it down and imprinted itself on every thrill in her body, making her tense with disbelief.

_Crush_.

* * *

><p>Claiming her seat beside Brittany in their matching Cheerios uniforms made her happier than she had expected. That unfamiliar glimmer in Brittany's gaze might have had something to do with that, though. Santana reached out and Brittany linked their pinkies.<p>

Not for the first time, Santana wondered why she had met this girl earlier in her life. They seemed somewhat destined to become friends and once they had, everything else started to fall into place.

"You want to come over and dance tonight?" Brittany asked, looking up from her paper dolls. Santana could feel her eyes, but her own stayed trained on the wood before her.

"I can't. I have a date with Sam." The words hung heavy between them the moment they left Santana's mouth.

"Oh. Okay." Brittany turned back to her art. The exchange strung between them, pulling down hard on both. Santana was the first to break- would probably always be the first to break, when it came down to it.

"I think I'm going to dump him." She offered, glancing up to study Brittany's reaction. This time, Brittany kept her eyes glued to the table.

"Really?" She finally looked over at Santana, reading past all the bravado and hidden emotions. Santana shrugged.

"He's not really worth my time. I'm pretty sure he'd rather play video games than make out with me." She muttered, looking away again. She wasn't doing this for Brittany by a long shot, not in her conscious or subconscious or whatever the fuck told her what to do. But she was hoping, somewhere else, that the news would click with Brit.

"I'm sorry." Brittany said, and it was exactly what should have come out of her mouth but they both sort of knew that she didn't mean it.

"Don't be-." Santana rolled her eyes. "Don't be sorry. I'm not."

"Oh. I'm not sorry then. Good luck." Brittany's attention was back on her dolls and Santana took the moment to smile affectionately, watching the way her hands were careful with the scissors but for some reason kept lobbing off the poor dolls' left feet. It shouldn't have charmed her, but god did it ever.

* * *

><p>Sam and Santana shared the back of his dad's pickup truck with a mostly empty picnic basket and a span of stilted conversations strung between them. He swung his legs easily, letting them hit the underside of the truck and back out front again. Her whole body was tense, gaze aimed dead ahead.<p>

"I'm thinking about driving into Columbus this weekend for that Comic Exchange, do you want to come with?" He looked toward her expectantly but she stared blankly ahead.

"I think-." Santana bit down _hard_ on the words that had been about to leave her lips, something along the lines of 'we should break up' or 'we should stop lying'. It was too harsh and she couldn't believe she'd almost let the words out between them. He was staring now.

"You think what?" He sounded defeated. He'd always been good at reading her moods and unfortunately tonight was no different. She glanced down at her hands, resting calmly in her lap, preparing, but he spoke before she could elaborate. "No, you know what, I think I got it." He slid off the bed of the truck. "Or- I _don't_ get it, because you won't talk to me anymore so I have no idea what's going through your head, but I'm pretty sure you're breaking up with me." His stare was accusing and she had absolutely no defenses against it.

He must have seen the truth painted clearly in her eyes because he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and turned away from her.

"It's just not working. I think we're in different places right now."

"You know, I thought we were different. Everyone said you would get bored and leave, but I thought we really had something." He rocked back on his heels, his eyes on the ground.

"We do, Sam. You are different. I just don't think I'm in the right place for a relationship right now." Santana stepped to the ground. He was studying her, his eyes inscrutable, and she wanted to shy away from the knowledge there. She crossed her arms defensively. "Look, I'm gonna go. I hope we can still be friends, or whatever.

"Or whatever, Santana." Sam said, but his voice wasn't cruel or harsh. She clicked away; her head tilted down until she thought about it and lifted her nose to the sky. Her Mustang growled to life and she hesitated, just for second, her eyes flickering back to Sam, before peeling away from his house.

The night stretched out, long and lonely, before her.


	5. like the stars above

Her fingers were unforgiving on her skin. They pulled tight on her eyes, hard against her eyebrows, smoothed against her cheeks, and dipped around the edges of her jaw. They smeared gloss on her lips and pushed a sliver of hair back into her sleek ponytail. They were also precise, though, and the lines of eyeliner above her eyes were straight and even. Her mascara was smooth, her blush blended.

Santana took a step back from the mirror and surveyed the results. Her skin was flawless, her eyes defined. Her mouth looked soft and pink. Her hair swung in a light curl, pulled up close in a ponytail, per Coach Sylvester's orders. Her Cheerios uniform contrasted warmly with her dark skin.

She smiled a tiny smile. It curved the edges of her mouth and sparkled in her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that little curl in her stomach when she got dressed in the morning.

Strangely, that morning was the first morning in three months she hadn't received a text from Sam to wake her up. She had waited without really waiting, her eyes set on her phone. She knew it wasn't coming. And somehow, that wasn't the big disappointment she had been expecting.

No, the feeling in her chest oddly resembled relief.

She smoothed the pleats of her skirt and shut off the lights to the bathroom, catching one last glimpse of her hopeful eyes in the mirror.

* * *

><p>The morning was soft with spring. A pleasant breeze teased at Santana's ponytail as she walked through the front doors to McKinley. She reveled, maybe, just a little bit, in the way a path parted for her to walk through untouched and uninterrupted. Sometimes, she could see why Quinn got off on this.<p>

Her eyes fell on a familiar uniform on a tall, pretty blonde girl who was walking like she'd rather be dancing. Santana's stomach did a happy swirl and she sped up a little, making her strides long to match Brittany's. She reached and her hand wrapped around Brittany's arm, pulling the girl to a stop. Brittany spun, ever graceful, and the uneasy look in her eyes faded instantly when she recognized Santana.

"Hey!" Her smile was bright and warm everything Santana was starting to realize Brittany was.

"Hi." Santana pulled Brittany out of the middle of the hallway, leading them toward a row of lockers. "Good morning." Her smile was teasing and well perfected, almost instinctive, though she couldn't recall using it on a girl before. Brittany blushed anyway, her eyes lighting up.

"Morning." She was openly staring down at Santana, her hands clasped cutely in front of her. "What's up?" They looked way too good in their matching Cheerio uniforms and Santana, brave in her newfound freedom, reached out to trace her fingertips against the seams of Brittany's top.

"What are you doing tonight?" Santana asked. She looked up at Brittany as if the fingers of one hand weren't currently dipping into the space between her top and skirt. Brittany shrugged.

"Painting my laptop lime green." Santana squinted at her.

"Do you think you could reschedule?"

"For you? Of course." Brittany tilted her head down and watched Santana's hand as it came to a rest on her hip, high enough to be respectable but low enough that it counted. Santana smirked- like, actually leaned into a locker and titled her head and let her lips curve into something dangerous. She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms in an effort to keep her hands to herself.

"Good, because Puckerman's having a party tonight and it's pretty much mandatory for Cheerios." Santana was still staring into Brittany's eyes like she couldn't possible look anywhere else, when their little world was suddenly rocked off its axis.

"You must be Brittany."

Their eyes flickered away simultaneously.

Santana had known Quinn Fabray since they were small enough to tumble down plastic slides. She knew almost every one of her moods and the majority of her flaws. She had seen Quinn jealous more times than she could count, but she didn't think she had ever seen Quinn actually jealous over _her_.

Brittany, always friendly first, took in Quinn's matching Cheerio uniform and smiled, but by the time she'd opened her mouth, it was too late.

"I'm Quinn Fabray, your Cheerio captain, although you'll be more than aware of that by the end of practice this afternoon." Santana's eyebrows rose. Brittany, to her credit, didn't let her eyes drop from Quinn's, but her fingers fluttered toward Santana's. Santana let them brush comfortingly.

"Oh. Well, I'll be there." Brittany promised, her smile glazing right over Quinn's threatening stance. Santana wondered if Quinn could see the hesitation clear in Brittany's eyes as well as she could. But Quinn only regarded Brittany curiously for a moment, before training her gaze on Santana.

"I need you at practice fifteen minutes early. You owe Coach two miles." Before Santana could respond to _that_ passive aggressive statement, Quinn spun on her heel. Her Cheerios skirt swirled dramatically and she stalked down the hall. Santana turned to Brittany.

"She's scary." Brittany intoned. Her eyes were trained on Quinn's departing figure. Santana nodded absently, her arms crossed, her gaze narrowed.

"Something must have crawled up her ass and died." Santana pushed off the locker and looped her pinky with Brittany's, asking more than pulling her away. "Hopefully she'll chill out by tonight."

"Oh, but party!" Brittany said happily. "Can I dance?"

* * *

><p>"You're a bitch." Santana huffed out as she dropped rather ungracefully into her desk. Her ponytail was sticking sweaty to the back of her neck and she whipped it away, some small part of her pleased when Rachel cringed in her seat. She set her gaze on Quinn, who was studiously staring at the whiteboard. "Hello? Virgin Mary, I'm talking to you."<p>

Quinn's head turned toward Santana very slowly, as if her whole body was protesting it. Her gaze was cool.

Santana was unimpressed.

"What are you talking about?" Santana bristled, her gaze narrowing.

"I'm talking about the six laps I just ran after practice."

"I told you. Coach said you owed her."

"Fuck that noise. Coach hasn't made me run extras since freshmen year. Something's stuck up _your_ ass and for some stupid fucking reason you've decided to take it out on me." Quinn rolled her eyes and turned her eyes back to the front of the classroom.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Quinn said calmly.

"I think you're forgetting that I've known you since_ forever_ and I can see directly through your shit. I don't know why you're getting all green over some new-" Quinn's head swiveled back in her direction, her eyes blazing.

"Don't you ever know when to shut up?" The words flew past Rachel, who was attempting to be as small as possible between the two girls. Santana took her advice, biting down on the phrases that threatened to fly off her tongue. She was aware that the frustration boiling in her stomach wasn't entirely Quinn's fault.

"Look, Quinn, I'm not going to ditch you for-"

"It's not even about that." Quinn hissed. Her eyes betrayed her for a moment, shifting forward to look for any prying ears.

"Then please, Fabray, fucking enlighten me." Santana dropped back in her seat, eyebrows raised expectantly. Quinn regarded her passively for a moment, and then shook her head.

"Later, okay?" Her eyes were hesitant and Santana could see honest anxiety shining through, so she backed off. Quinn turned back to the board. Her shoulders were tense and her head high. Santana could feel Rachel's eyes shifting toward her and she snapped her head in the midget's direction.

"What are you looking at, Berry?" Santana slouched down, arms tightly crossed.

Rachel blinked once, but turned her gaze back down to her notes.

* * *

><p>Quinn and Santana, somewhat reconciled in the face of the glee club's unrelenting cheeriness, held court in their regular chairs on the second row. Santana was picking disinterestedly at her nails, trying to avoid Sam's stony gaze from across the room. She stared blandly at Mr. Shue. She was sure he was most likely talking, but his words couldn't pass through the hazy fog she was distracted in. Her eyes flickered over to Quinn, who had that impenetrable indifference painted across her face.<p>

Santana squinted at her for a moment, before the side door opened and Mike Change slid in, pulling Brittany along behind him.

_Wait_.

Santana's hands trapped each other in her lap and her eyes caught Brittany's, who smiled brightly at her.

"Hey, Mr. Shue." Mike effectively interrupted the rather dreary speech Mr. Shuester had been droning through. "This is Brittany. She'd like to join glee club." Mr. Shue's face grew into a grin and he practically thrashed Brittany's hand with enthusiasm.

"Well, Brittany we are so thrilled to have you. Just take a seat anywhere, I was about to give everyone their assign-"

"Excuse me, Mr. Shuester, but shouldn't she have to try out?" Rachel squeaked from the front row, practically falling out of her seat.

"Shut up, Berry, she doesn't need to audition." Brittany was already halfway to Santana, but paused mid-step, seeming hesitant.

"No, I- I will if you want." She shrugged. "Do have any, like, Beyonce?" Mr. Shue hesitated for a moment- Santana could practically hear him trying to reconcile Beyonce with the catalogue of classic rock she was sure filled that curly head.

"Here-" Mercedes held out her iPod, the Beyonce page already up. "Take your pick." A minute later the iPod was jacked into the dock and Brittany was letting her hair down from the strict Cheerios ponytail, tangling her fingers through it, and rolling her shoulders. Brittany caught Santana's eye briefly and heat rose up on Santana's cheeks, a blush that she hoped no one else would notice.

Then the music kicked in and she stopped breathing, letting everything else go in favor of watching Brittany dance. It wasn't pure and liquid like it had been that first night, and thank god it wasn't slow and dirty like she had been in the studio. It wasn't even cut and professional like their Cheerios routine. It was something else entirely, a free dance that radiated confidence and talent. She'd chosen _Diva_ and it was quick and strong and Brittany snapped and popped to it, a teasing smile flirting with the edges of her mouth, an edge in her eyes.

Halfway through, she crooked one finger towards Mike and he practically levitated out of his seat to join her on the floor. They moved in unison, reading each other in an entirely natural way that seemed peculiar to dancers. The song cut to a stop and they held their position, staring each other down until Brittany started laughing and the room exploded into applause. Finn appeared to have trouble staying his seat and Mr. Shue's mouth hung wide open, to Santana's amusement.

When Brittany hopped up the steps and flung herself in Santana's arms- well, that didn't exactly damper her mood, either.

* * *

><p>The air was still warm with the heat of the day when Santana slid into her convertible. She tossed her bag into the passenger seat and shifted into reverse with practiced ease. Strong fingers gripped the steering wheel and the car curved hard out of the garage. The houses flew past rapidly, green blurring into nothing.<p>

She fidgeted with the radio, switching from R&B and back to top 40. She finally settled on a slow jam and let the music lay a soft beat to the background. Her windows were down, the wind dancing with her lightly curled hair. Her dress was skintight and her heels were high, but it was the sparkle in her eyes that was going to make her the life of the party tonight.

She pulled into Brittany's driveway slow and smooth, the gravel shifting under her wheels. Her heels crunched in the rock, but her footing was solid. The sun had just set in the sky and the neighborhood was quiet and warm gray, the greens of the trees bright and harsh. The lights in the Pierces' windows shone warm yellow.

She knocked twice on the door and waited for the pattering footsteps of Brittany's little sister.

"Who is it?" Sang out from behind the wood. Santana fought a smile.

"It's Santana." The door swung open and Santana looked down at Annie, who had the remains of chocolate cake smeared on her cheeks.

"Sannn!" She was all of four and adorable and she threw herself at Santana, who lifted her up in an attempt to keep the chocolate off her dress.

"Where's Britt?"Annie tilted her head toward the stairs as Santana walked inside, hip-checking the door shut behind her.

"Alright, kiddo, I don't think I can handle the stairs with you and these heels." Santana bent down and set Annie back on the ground. When she turned her eyes back to the stairs, Brittany was at the top, her blonde hair long and straight, her shorts tiny and ruffled.

"Hey!" She grinned a little shyly and started down the stairs.

"Hi." Santana said, swallowing once and glancing back down at Annie in an effort to look casual. Brittany took the last few steps with her hands braced on the banister and the wall, and fell into Santana's arms, almost sending them both to the ground.

Santana's stomach roiled with a mixture of emotions.

When Brittany pulled away, she left her face far too close to Santana's. Her hands rested, friendly, on Santana's sides.

"You look great. Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are."

Brittany leaned down and kissed Annie once on the top of her head, then called out to her parents. "I'm gone!" They stepped out into the warm night air, Brittany's hand finding a spot in the crook of Santana's arm. Santana swung the car door open for her, a grand gesture of chivalry, and Brittany laughed as she dipped inside. Santana failed miserably to hide her smile as she circled the car to the driver's side.

The door shut softly. The car was quiet, shielding them from the rest of the world, and Santana turned to Brittany before she started the engine.

"I hope you brought the supplies."

Brittany's smile was dangerous. She hefted a bottle of cheap tequila out of her bag and held it aloft.

The night air practically sang with its possibilities.

* * *

><p>Puck seemed intent on taking advantage of the sweet spring weather. Santana could hear booming music when she rolled up in front of his house. Slipping out the door and locking it twice, she and Brittany followed the beat down the driveway and around the corner. Santana felt back and hooked her pinky into Brittany's without thinking about it, subtly leading her through the rusted gate and into the fray. Puck's iPod was thumping dutifully from a table near the back door and most of the party was grouped around a patio table, where Puckerman himself was orchestrating a game of poker. Others stood on the pebbly cement, beer cans sweating in their hands, sun glasses on against the warmly setting sun.<p>

Most of the Glee Club was mesmerized by the poker game. Tina was settled comfortably on Mike's lap, squinting at his array of cards. Finn looked more than confused about the entire game and he kept leaning over to mutter questions at Sam. Santana ran a fond hand over Puck's Mohawk and he grinned at her from behind a thick cigar, his aviators reflecting the pit fire that was flickering in a corner of his barren back yard.

Santana glanced over, mostly to make sure it wasn't going to start a forest fire Lima would never forget, and stumbled when she saw who was gathered around the flames. Brittany, always graceful, stopped on a dime behind Santana, her hands falling on Santana's hips.

Quinn and Rachel sat on almost opposite sides of the flames, each claiming a blanket on the dead grass. They were talking quietly to each other, Quinn's eyes focused on the fire, Rachel digging in the dirt next to her.

Santana stared.

"It's not so big. I think they'll be okay." Brittany murmured in her ear, hands still soft on her waist. Santana blinked twice.

"What?"

"The fire. I'm sure they're fine." Santana turned in Brittany's grasp, already shaking her head. She was relieved Quinn hadn't seen her staring. Maybe this was good, but maybe this was really, really bad.

"Oh, no, I just- well Quinn-." Santana quit, unsure of how to explain the two girls' relationship to Brittany. Now that she thought about it, actually, their entire relationship was fucking weird. She snuck another glance at the two. Quinn just kept staring at the fire, nodding along to whatever Rachel was saying.

Santana made a face.

"I need a drink." She broke away from Brittany's hands gently and led the way across the patio and though the back door, into Puck's neat but worn kitchen. Two steps in and she set her purse on the counter, already digging for the tequila, heavy at the bottom. She set it on the counter with a thunk and pulled open the fridge to dig out the orange juice and Sprite.

When she turned back, Brittany was measuring alcohol into two Solo cups. Santana smirked. She knew there was a good reason she and Brittany made great friends. She slid the orange juice down the counter and Brittany caught it without looking up. Santana popped the tab on the Sprite can and moved in next to the girl, their hips touching lightly. They worked quickly, mixing their drinks to whatever ratio they liked better, and Santana gave hers a quick swirl before offering a toast.

She lifted the cup and her eyes glinted.

"To tonight." She said. Their hips were still too close and Brittany smiled, surprising Santana again with her easy, open eyes, with the humor dancing in them.

"To tonight." Brittany murmured, tapping her cup against Santana's. They locked eyes and took the first sip. The alcohol was sharp in Santana's nose- she always did mix her drinks too strong- and Brittany's perfume was just as intoxicating when she leaned forward and pressed a neat, soft kiss against Brittany's cheek.

"Let's go take some asshole's money." Santana said, and grabbed her bag and spun out of the kitchen before Brittany could react.

If had she stayed, though, she might have seen the rosy blush that bloomed right where her lips had met skin.

The poker game was still going strong. Surprisingly, Kurt seemed to have the upper hand, judging from the amount of pennies stacked before him. Santana drug a low bench over to the side of the table and squeezed in between Mike and Mercedes. Brittany pressed in close, leaning a shoulder against Mike's chair.

"Sorry, ladies but you're going to have to wait for the next round." Puck said, his aviators still glinting in the sun. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Its fine, I'll let you keep your money for another ten minutes." Beside her, Mercedes rolled her eyes.

"Girl, I wish you were joking." She said, laying her cards and sighing a heavy 'fold'. Santana stretched her legs out underneath the table, thigh brushing against Brittany's. She buried her smile in a sip of her drink.

"So, anyone have a clue about what's occurring near the fire pit, right now?" Kurt's voice was low and he tilted his head toward Quinn and Rachel. His eyes found Santana's across the table, but she just shrugged and shook her head, lifting her drink back to her mouth.

"They were like that when I got here." Tina chipped in, leaning further into Mike. Puck remained silent on the subject, his focus set on the cards in his hand.

"Quinn showed up and just disappeared over there." Sam was staring at his cards and his voice, though quiet, was easily heard by everyone at the table. "Then, Rachel walked in, saw her, and went right over. They've just been talking since then." The table was silent as they all digested this. No one was willing to bring up the reason Quinn had been so melancholy, since he was sitting right there. Finn looked like he was trying to ignore the conversation and down a beer in less than two minutes at the same time.

"Well, I don't know what's in the cards for them-" Artie said, eyebrows lifting in the two girls' direction. "But I sure know what's in _these_ cards." He fanned his against the table and smirked. "Read 'em and weep."

"Aw, bro." Puck groaned, tossing his to the table. The table echoed the sentiment as Artie reached out to drag the load into his arms. The cards were tossed back to the center of the table and they spun against each other. Puck swept them together, the cigar still hanging from his mouth. "Strip poker, anyone?" He was leering.

"Let's play quarters." Mike suggested.

"I Never." Kurt threw in.

"Captain Dickhead.", was Artie's addition.

"I think I've got just the game." Puck set the neatly stacked cards back on the table. "Everyone go grab a couple drinks, meet back here in five, and prepare to get hammered."

Santana looked over at Brittany and wondered if her own eyes were as shiny with excitement as the blonde's were.

* * *

><p>The sun had set on the excesses of alcohol and thudding beats of their party. People were still trickling in- a case of beer and a football player here, a handle of whiskey and one of Puck's coworkers there. Most of the Glee Club was circled around the fire, where they'd drunkenly interrupted whatever breakthrough Quinn and Rachel had seemed to be having. Santana was leaning against Puck's dilapidated back fence, the fire hot on her legs, Brittany to one side and the bottle of tequila to another.<p>

Santana knocked her knee against Brittany's and tilted her head to see the other girl's face.

"You're drunk." Brittany said, but her cheeks were also warm with alcohol. Santana smiled wide.

"You're drunk." She returned. Brittany's hand covered hers on the ground and her gaze grew serious and- nervous, maybe. Santana's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, her heart stuttering. She could feel the emotion sharp on her face and she looked away.

Artie was quietly singing one of their old assignments and Finn was tapping out a messy beat on his empty beer bottle. Santana's could feel Brittany's fingers tangling hers like a question, and the slow burn they sharpened in her nerves. The uncomfortable want was spreading all the way down her stomach and up into her neck, hitting nerves and neurons and all the right spots.

Santana stared through the flickering flames and caught Sam's gaze across the pit. He was always adorable when he was drunk, his ears bright red, his hair messy and fluffed around his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment and Santana felt Brittany's hand on hers like a brand, warm and suddenly smothering.

She was pulling away before her brain even registered the impulse.

She crossed her arms, breaking Sam's gaze, and tried to ignore the way Brittany's looked over at her. There was surprise written in her eyes and Santana stared down at the ground, her hand reaching for the tequila.

"Leave some for me." Brittany murmured, sounding a little concerned at the way Santana was swallowing it down. Santana handed the bottle over and caught Brittany's eyes almost reluctantly.

"You know, I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom. I'll come find you in a minute." Santana stood, unsteadily, some half-sober part of her remembering to pull her dress down, and pushed her fingers through her mussed hair.

"Wait, I'll come with you." Brittany was starting to stand up, but Santana put a hand on her shoulder.

"No, its fine, I'll be back in a minute."

She just needed air, she reasoned, and a little space to rid herself of this slow, soft wanting that was hot in her stomach and warm around her nerves.

* * *

><p>A minute turned into half an hour and a drunken conversation with Blaine, who cornered her near the front door to talk about the last Bulls game. She hadn't forgotten about Brittany by a long shot, but it felt nice to be distracted and feel someone's hand on her arm without wanting to kiss them.<p>

And that- where the hell was that coming from?

At some point she watched- well, really, stared – as Rachel and Quinn disappeared down a hallway, their arms brushing. Blaine was going on and on and Santana was answering on autopilot, her brain not really following what her mouth was saying. Maybe she'd had too much tequila, too fast, because she just really wanted to sit down and close her eyes. She told Blaine as much and together they found an empty space on the living room couch.

It was loud and the room was filled with sweaty teenagers grinding against each other but it was nothing new and Santana was kind of glad, because it was keeping her awake.

At some point, Blaine left. The fog around her head was starting to clear and she took the water someone pressed into her hand. When she turned to see who had taken the seat next to her, her eyes widened comically. Sam looked concerned and cute and totally kissable in the moment. Santana found herself leaning forward before her body rejected autopilot and she dipped her mouth to the cup instead.

"Thank you." She said, once she'd managed to drink a few sips without spilling it on herself.

"You looked like you needed it."

He gave her another probing look and then a friendly pat on the knee, before disappearing into the swell. Santana wondered where Quinn was, then remembered Rachel, then made a face she could tell was hilarious, because it twisted oddly in her skin and made her laugh to herself. Eventually, the room slowed down to a reasonable speed and she took in the events going on around her. Lauren was holding court in Puck's armchair, her wrestling buddies guffawing loudly around her. Mike was mostly holding Tina up while they swayed near the speakers. Mercedes and Kurt had their heads pressed together and their backs against the wall, taking short breaks from gossiping to sip from their matching cups.

The couch bounced with the arrival of someone else and Santana didn't have to look over to recognize the strong arm that wrapped around her shoulders. She's felt the same grasp since 7th grade and she'd been there, done that. Puck pulled her closer, though, and she didn't resist.

"Partying hard?" He called out over the music. She nodded, taking another sip of her water.

"Another epic rager." She said dryly. She watched her friends bounce to the music, the crowd parting with the movement, someone bumping into her legs every once and again. The crowd shifted again and she had to blink twice before her mind would even process what her eyes were seeing.

"Well, shit." Puck was chuckling. Santana shrugged his arm off and leaned forward. There was something warm in her eyes and she blinked again. "Your new cheerleader sure moves fast." Puck's arm fell behind her and Santana stood up, before realizing she had nothing to do. There was nothing to do.

Brittany was sitting on Artie in his wheelchair, her hair a glorious blonde swirl around her figure, hips rolling, legs flexing. Artie looked like he was experiencing the second coming and Santana was filled with something so poisonous it sparked in her eyes. She turned away suddenly and stumbled out of the room, hip banging into the door frame, water spilling to the ground. She was going for something, but she wasn't sure what until her eyes landed on the well used tequila bottle on the kitchen counter. She had it open and lifted to her lips before Puck caught up to her and pulled it down. She swallowed against the burn of the mouthful she had managed to steal.

"Whoa, Lopez, I think you need a breather." She glared angrily at him for a half-second and then laid one hand on his chest and pulled him closer. His eyes were suddenly centimeters from hers and they blurred drunkenly, his lashes so long. She tried to remember what it was like to kiss him, rough or soft or something she even wanted to do.

A flash of blonde hair in the door had her stumbling away.

"Hey, I saw you run in-" Brittany stopped when she saw the two of them, Puck's shirt crumpled with the force of Santana's fist. "Oh, sorry." But she didn't look sorry. Santana's held her gaze for one long moment and then turned away. Her anger made her sloppy but focused, the back door swinging open before her.

In the far corner, the fire was nothing but embers, red and warm in the evening heat. Her heels were finding holes in the ground that hadn't been there earlier. Brittany's hand found a spot in the crook of her elbow, helping her, and Santana didn't even want to brush her away. She _wanted_ to want to push her away.

"What's wrong?" Brittany's voice was soft and sharp, and she pulled Santana to a stop. "Hey." She said. Her face was swimming in Santana's gaze and Santana felt this quick, awful twist in the pit of her stomach that sent shivers straight to her toes.

"Nothing." She said hoarsely.

"But you're crying." Brittany looked absolutely miserable. Santana put a hand to her face and found that she was right.

"I'm just…drunk." Santana had to move away or she was going to hurtle straight into Brittany's arms and never let go. _Stupid, melancholy drunk_. She walked toward the fence. Outside, the Lima sky went on forever, like it always did, but the stars were swaying in their spots and Santana had to put a hand on the wood to steady herself. She could_ feel_ Brittany standing behind her.

She took one shaky, watery deep breath and shut her eyes. She'd stopped crying.

"When did you meet Artie?" She asked. She could tell she was being entirely see-through.

"Tonight. He can really sing." Santana could hear the smile in Brittany's voice. "And he danced with me when I couldn't find you. Where did you go?" Brittany set her hand lightly on Santana's shoulder.

"I- Blaine kept- and then Sam… Sorry." Santana turned back and her eyes settled on Brittany's.

"It's okay. I found you." Brittany said sweetly. She took a step forward and Santana, her back against the fence, had nowhere to run. "If I knew you were going to run and hide, I would have kept better track of you." Brittany murmured, then leaned forward and pulled Santana into a warm embrace. She was tall enough in low heels that Santana's chin fell softly against her shoulder. Santana slid her arms around Brittany's sides and they stood there, quietly. The crickets hummed in the background, the music thudded loudly, and Santana's heart thumped, her senses suddenly clear. Brittany was warm ad soft and strong in her arms and Santana's whole body was alight with energy, spilling through her fingertips and pooling in her belly. She squeezed Brittany tighter. It was hug, but it was something more than that, too.

When they finally pulled apart, Santana's tears had dried and she blinked up at Brittany, who gazed down warmly, like always. They let go of each other.

"Will you dance with me?" Brittany asked, holding one hand out, pinky lifted. Santana smiled without really meaning to and caught Brittany's pinky with her own.

"Duh."

* * *

><p>Brittany and Santana were sharing an armchair and a glass of plain orange juice in the corner of Puck's living room. The party was slowly dying out as the clock rounded two. Blaine and Kurt were tangled up on the couch next to them, Blaine blinking sleepily and throwing in the random comment while Kurt speculated on the Rachel and Quinn events of the evening. Santana rolled her eyes at a particularly ridiculous statement and let her hand find the small of Brittany's back. Almost instantly, Brittany leaned into her touch.<p>

Santana was mostly sober and a lot tired, a headache threatening, but Brittany was soft and her laugh was gentle. Santana was willing to suffer a lot of things to keep holding onto this moment.

That was why, of course, Quinn chose that exact second to stride into the room, her hair down and mussed, her eyes a little glazed and desperate. She went straight for Santana.

"Let's go."

Santana blinked, then set her orange juice on the table and exchanged glances with Brittany. With a nod toward Kurt and Blaine, who were watching with wide, alert eyes, she grabbed her purse and Brittany and they followed Quinn through the kitchen and out the back door. They picked across the patio, and slipped out. Santana opened her mouth to ask, but Quinn must have seen it coming.

"Give me your keys. And I'll tell you later." She turned, her eyes telling her not to ask, not to question.

"Do I need to kick someone's ass?" Santana asked plainly, handing over her keys. Quinn shook her head mutely. They piled into Santana's car; Brittany curled up in the backseat and Santana sent curious glances at Quinn from the passenger seat. The ride back was too quiet, save the dinging of Quinn's phone as she furiously texted someone. Santana stared out the window, and then, when she realized she could see Brittany in the side mirror, at Brittany's eyes, at her mouth.

Santana's house wasn't far away and Quinn pulled into her garage with practiced ease. Santana was leading the way inside when she noticed Quinn heading out the garage.

"Aren't you staying?" She asked and Quinn shook her head.

"I'm getting picked up." The girl hesitated, like she wanted to say more but couldn't find it in herself to do so. Santana leveled her with a look, kind and questioning and accepting in a way only drunken Santana ever was.

"Call me in the morning." She commanded. Quinn nodded once and disappeared into the front yard.

Santana's house was dark and empty, and she made Brittany slip off her shoes before she came inside. They crept up the stairs to Santana's room and she flicked on her desk light, the light shining intimately through the room. She was suddenly exhausted from whatever the night had been and she tugged off her heels, tossing them in the corner. Digging out a couple pairs of sleep shorts and t-shirts, she tossed a pair to Brittany and slid the shorts on under her dress. She was struggling to get out of it when she felt warm, almost familiar hands brush softly against her waist. They slid up her arms and eased the material over her head and down onto the floor. Santana stood before Brittany, suddenly bare, and felt no shame in it.

Brittany smiled sweetly, and turned back to her clothes.

Dressed, teeth brushed, and face washed, they crawled into Santana's bed, both still a little tipsy. The light was flicked off and darkness settled. Santana stared across the foot between them on her bed. Brittany's face was a shadowy silhouette in the dark.

"I had fun tonight." Brittany's voice was louder than a whisper. Just quiet enough to fit the space. Intimate.

"I'm glad you came." Santana blinked, her eyes getting heavier.

"I'm glad I met you." Brittany murmured, as Santana was falling asleep.

She might have smiled stupidly before dreams overtook.

* * *

><p>The morning dawned late. The alarm went off, was promptly silenced, and a blonde head and a brunette head buried back into the pillows, shifting under the sheets. It was nearing noon when Santana finally stretched out of sleep, her toes pushing the blanket away, fingers brushing her headboard.<p>

She pushed up on her elbows and surveyed the strewn clothes on her floor, the blonde girl in her bed, and the shades drawn tight. Her phone was blinking insistently from the desk. She reached over and pushed Brittany, who muttered something incomprehensible and rolled further away. Santana smiled, despite herself, and poked the girl again.

"Britts, wake up." Two blue eyes blinked back at her, followed by a warm smile that crept up into them.

"Good morning." Brittany murmured, before burying herself back under the pillows. Santana laughed. She was somehow hangover free and thoroughly rested. Last night's events were a little vague and hazy, but it seemed to have gone down okay.

"Come on, get up. I'll make you pancakes." Santana rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She took her time brushing her teeth and working a comb through her unruly hair. When she finally walked back into the bedroom, she stopped short. Brittany was stretching languidly on her bed, arms raised high above her, legs endless in the Santana's tiny shorts.

Santana was entirely unaware of the need glazed across her eyes, but she did know Brittany was now regarding her with a soft look, her mouth almost curling into a smile.

"I think I heard something about pancakes." Brittany said seriously. Santana nodded, unable to do anything else.

"Pancakes." She managed finally, and tore her eyes away. "A Lopez family tradition. Come on." She hurried to the bedroom door. This fleeing was becoming a regular occurrence, but then Santana had always been reluctant to devote any sort of courage to anyone.

They padded down the stairs, Brittany rubbing at sleepy eyes, Santana holding a hand against her rumbling stomach. They were halfway down when Mrs. Lopez swept into view, clearly headed out somewhere.

"Well, hello girls." The woman smiled and it had that same Lopez sharpness to it, with a tinge of easily missed warmth. She was a blur of movement, shouldering her purse and swinging her keys. "I'm headed out to the store. Your father's been called into work. There's pancake mix and the fridge and Armando would like you to takehimtothepetstore." She shot the last bit out quickly with an apologetic grimace and a blown kiss, and disappeared out the door, leaving Santana rolling her eyes. That meant Armando was going to be a royal brat until he was taken to the pet store, and her Mom had left her with the task of putting up with him.

"Sannn!" Armando came barreling through the doorway to the den and launched himself at Santana's knees, wrapping his small arms around her legs. He had spiky brown bedhead that stood up in all directions, and light blue dinosaur pajamas on. He looked up at her with wide brown eyes that aimed for innocent but were betrayed by a twinkling glint. Brittany was instantly charmed. "Will you take me to the pet store?" Santana rolled her eyes again.

"We'll see." She said, and Armando let go of her and sat back with a huff. Then, he caught sight of Brittany and his whole demeanor changed. He scooted behind Santana and stared up with something like awe in his eyes. He tugged once on Santana's shirt, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Who's that?" He asked.

"This is Brittany." Santana turned to the girl, unaware that her eyes held the same gentle awe that Armando's did. Brittany smiled down at the little boy.

"Hey." Brittany sat down on the floor next to Armando and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you." Armando only buried his face behind Santana's knees, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

"Say hello, Armando." Santana looked down at her little brother, who was practically drowning in his sudden embarrassment.

"Hello." He said finally, his voice very quiet. Santana reached down and pried his hands from her knees, then pulled him up by the hand.

"Come on, quiet being shy. Let's make some pancakes." He practically shot off in the direction of the kitchen, pulling Santana along behind him. She turned back and took Brittany's hand, gave her a warm smile, and tugged her up and then down the hall as well.

* * *

><p>The pet store was Armando's idea of heaven on Earth. He was straining against Santana's hand the moment they walked inside and she sent Brittany an exasperated look before letting him pull her toward the bunny rabbits. She let him press his nose to glass to watch the fish dart back and forth, and they finally ended up at the bird section. One of the employees squatted down beside him, thankfully distracting the little guy with a tiny yellow bird. Santana took a second to breathe.<p>

"He really loves the pet store." Brittany mused, leaning next to Santana against the wall. Their hands brushed. "I love the pet store, too. But I think the ferrets are plotting an escape." She nodded toward the ferret cage, where two of them were perched on top of a castle of some sort. Santana laughed.

"Good for them." They were quiet for a moment. Santana spoke without turning her head."Thanks for coming with us."

"Are you kidding? Wouldn't miss it for the world." Brittany was sincere. Santana glanced down to see the girl offering her pinkie, and took it without a second thought. They smiled stupidly at each other for a second, and then Santana felt a tickle against her elbow. She looked down to see Armando holding a rat near her arm and promptly hopped a foot in the air, making a horrid face. To her credit, she didn't scream, but Brittany and Armando burst out laughing anyway.

"You should have seen your face." Brittany said, trying to calm down. She wiped a finger underneath her eyes and then caught Santana's eye and started laughing again. Armando offered Brittany the rat and she scooped it into her hands.

"It's a rat!" Santana said, censoring her more colorful comments.

"It's just a baby." Brittany was cooing at the thing and Armando ran a careful finger down the length of its tail. Santana sent the two of them a concerned look.

"You two are crazy. I'm going to go over here, where hopefully no one as crazy as you will be." She walked away- well, kind of ran, really- and spent the next half an hour dodging Brittany's attempts to hand her a mouse.

* * *

><p>They dropped Armando back off at Santana's house with her mom and, after Brittany had mussed Armando's hair affectionately and turned his face beet red, they hopped back in the car. Santana, who usually couldn't stand to be around one person for more than two hours, was annoyed at having to cut their afternoon short. Brittany had dance class, though, and Santana had homework and so she found herself navigating through Sam's neighborhood at a snail's pace.<p>

Brittany was laughing as Santana recounted a Kurt story from the night before when they pulled into her driveway. Santana was blushing with happiness and the feeling in her chest was something so surreal and unfamiliar that she was desperate to keep it going.

"I had fun today." Brittany told her, seeming just as unwilling to leave the car.

"I think Armando might be a little in love with you." Santana teased. She shifted into park and sat back in her seat, giving in to the need to just _stare_ at Brittany's face. Brittany laughed.

"Maybe I'll ask him out, then." She replied easily. Santana rolled her eyes. "What? Then we could be sister-in-laws."

"First of all, that's totally illegal. Second of all, I don't want you marrying my _brother_." Santana made a face and laughed.

"Why not?" Brittany asked. Her tone was a little too serious and Santana met her gaze with apprehension. She frowned and started to backpedal.

"I mean, I guess…" Her words trailed off, though, and she found herself staring right back at Brittany, the tension between them melting into an unavoidable tug and flow. Her eyes betrayed her for a millisecond, dropping to Brittany's lips and then shooting her gaze out the window. Her cheeks warmed, but she couldn't keep herself from meeting Brittany's gaze again.

She seemed closer than she had been a second ago and then Santana realized she was moving across the console, one hand braced on the seat, one lifting to settle on Santana's knee. The thrill that spiked straight down her spine and burned hot in her gut was electrifying. Brittany's hand was like a brand on her skin.

Santana breaths came quiet and shallow.

Brittany moved another inch closer, her breath puffing against Santana's cheek, suddenly too close to be mistaken.

"Santana." She breathed, like a question, and a solid, pure sense of absolute settled in Santana's chest at the sound of her name, so familiar and so new. Her eyes fluttered shut with the heaviness of reality, but she didn't need sight to find Brittany's mouth with her own, crossing the centimeters to press a kiss into her lips. An unbearable warmth and joy ached in her body and the only relief was kissing Brittany again and just when Santana thought she couldn't bear to feel anything else, Brittany was kissing her back.

She felt a hand soft against her neck, fingers tickling slightly at the hair on the back of her neck, their mouths hot and soft. Then, Brittany's tongue moved to wet her lips and Santana's breath left her in a pure, soft gasp. The bolt of need that ravaged her body shook her up and she pulled back, struggling to open her eyes.

Brittany's mouth was bright pink and her cheeks were rosy and those blue eyes, god, shone warm and bright in the afternoon light.

Santana couldn't catch her breath and she couldn't keep from leaning back in.


	6. it was just the time that was wrong

The day had darkened with the onset of rain. Outside, great towers of dark clouds rolled across the sky. Inside, Santana's desk lamp lit the room with a warm glow. She was leaning against the window frame with her arms folded tight. The sky refused to rain. She refused to cry.

They both seemed to be locked in a battle against the inevitable.

Her mouth was still soft from Brittany's kisses. She licked her lips, trying to erase the feeling, but it just settled hard in her chest.

This wasn't- it shouldn't be a thing to cry about.

She sat down on the edge of her bed and caught a glimpse of her pathetic expression in the mirror before falling backwards and landing softly on the comforter. The sheets were still tangled from the night before.

"_I'm glad I met you."_

Every inch of her body was worn out, exhausted, tired and angry, and buzzing with excitement. The uncomfortable, tapping nerves beneath her skin were making her head spin.

She had kissed Brittany.

Well, Brittany had kissed her, really, and she had kind of kissed back. Okay, she had kissed back. She had been surprised and, admittedly, kind of curious, and she had given into the idea in for a moment, let Brittany do whatever she wanted.

She knew that wasn't true, okay? She could still feel the curl of arousal at the bottom of her stomach, but the awful fear and shame had practically smothered it to death. She knew what had happened- it was painted in the flush in her skin and in the way her heart leapt when she thought about Brittany's hands in her hair. It wasn't doing her any good, though. She shut her eyes.

She felt like she was going to throw up, the fear heavy and liquid in her belly.

Brittany had kissed her and she had kissed back and that was it, something weird and experimental that they didn't have to talk about, something stupid between them that didn't have to be anything she didn't want it to be- Brittany wasn't- she couldn't be-

Santana's fingers brushed her lips before her brain had time to process it and when she realized what she was doing, she dropped her hand instantly. Was Brittany…and did she think Santana was, too?

She lay there for a long time, staring up at her ceiling and playing the kiss over and over again in her head. The heat of Brittany's hand on her thigh, the way she tasted like her Dr. Pepper lip gloss, the bolt of terror or exhilaration that had sent her head spinning with adrenaline when she realized what was about to happen.

She thought about the moment Brittany pulled away, sliding her fingers out of Santana's hair, and the way her smile was honest and open but there was something tantalizing in her gaze and in the flush on her cheeks. Santana hadn't been able to smile back and Brittany had stepped out of the car unsurely, staring when Santana waved half-heartedly and rolled out of the driveway.

She sat up, reaching for her phone, suddenly desperate to hear Brittany's voice- and not entirely sure what she planned to say to her except for:_ it didn't happen_. When she swiped her finger across the screen, though, Brittany's name was already sitting there, waiting.

_This weekend was really fun. The last part was my favorite. :) _

She took the five steps to the bathroom, her knees hitting the tiles hard, and this time she really did throw up.

* * *

><p>The next morning was damp and cool, and the air seemed soggy with the rain from last night. Santana woke up in the same clothes she'd been wearing the night before. Dragging herself out of bed and into the shower was a feat she didn't want to relive, but she managed somehow, blinking her eyes sleepily under the warm spray.<p>

She felt better. Like maybe yesterday hadn't actually happened. The fear had settled like a familiar weight on her shoulders, cool and distant. It was the fear that someone would find out, that her parents would know, that she would forever be labeled as 'different'. And not in the way she had always planned.

She had homework to do and Facebook to stalk and she pushed Brittany into the back of her head and settled in at her desk.

She was halfway through her Biology Lab report when her phone dinged. She slid the screen without looking- vaguely remembering Quinn's drama two nights ago- but it was Brittany. Santana stared down at her suddenly traitorous iPhone.

_Hey, want to go 2 the park later?_

She hated feeling like this, like her skin didn't belong to her, like her heart had swollen three sizes and was threatening to float up and out of her body. She hated wanting this the way she did because the implications of it were terrifying. The shame hadn't been there last week but now a name for the way she leaned into Brittany, searching for her touch, was floating in the back of her mind and the fear spiked straight to the bone.

_Can't. Have to finish my homework._

She tapped out her answer and then sat and stared at the screen without sending it.

Finally, she erased the whole thing and tossed her phone back onto her bed. It lay there, practically taunting her for the next hour, and when it dinged again she forced herself to ignore it. She knew it was wrong- cruel, even, to ignore Brittany after what had happened but, god, she had _kissed_ her. She remembered the evening before and how desperate to rid herself of the feeling she had been, the way it sunk into her skin like a brand.

She ventured downstairs a little before noon when her stomach refused to quit its insistent grumbling. Her dad was blinking tiredly at a pan full of vegetables while her mother folded clothes in the living room, singing quietly to herself as she did. For a second, the knowledge that she had kissed Brittany flared up inside her once again, hot and awkward, but then died out just as quickly. It became background noise, a private little shame that her feel uncomfortable when she hopped up on the island and watched her dad sway back and forth to her mother's voice.

"Buenos dias, Santana." He set the pan down and turned toward her, swinging his hips a little in a weird dance. Santana pushed away the smile that threatened to creep onto her face and lifted an eyebrow instead.

"Hola." The apathy dripped off her tone. He walked to the fridge and began sifting through the vegetables, setting a few on the counter.

"How are you this morning, my dear?" His Puerto Rican accent was showing in a way he only allowed at home. She was feeling guilty and mean and a lot of other words she just snowballed into _upset_. He looked at her, his eyes narrowing with every second she couldn't answer.

"Fine."

She hopped down off the counter and left, her appetite suddenly gone.

* * *

><p>Her phone dinged for the fifth time in the past hour and she sighed but finally reached for it. Swimming in that familiar river of denial was wearing her out and maybe she wanted to see what Brittany had said, so what? That didn't mean she was- that she had liked it. That she had liked it anymore than a normal person would. Brittany's name shone in the blue of her screen. She clicked through to her messages. One from Quinn, one from Tina, and four from Brittany. One missed call from Quinn, as well.<p>

Seeing their familiar names made it all too clear that she didn't feel like talking to anyone. She slid to Brittany's messages first.

_Lord Tubbington ate our art project. What are we going to do…_

_I guess your studying, ttyl._

_By the way I forgot my cat toy in ur car. Maybe you could drop it off later?_

And then, hours after the other three:

_Are u okay?_

Santana stared at the words and an idea began to crystallize in her mind. The kiss didn't belong to her- it was Brittany's as much as it was hers. It was tied between them. And Brittany could- she could say whatever she wanted and-

Santana was hitting the call key before she could stop herself, Brittany's words burnt like a light behind her eyes. _Are u okay_? No, she wasn't fucking okay. The line rang once, twice, and then Santana swiped quickly against the end button and tossed the phone back onto her bed. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably and she shut her eyes tight, pressing her palms against her forehead. She was so scared and she hated it, hated the way it made her feel like she wasn't herself.

A few seconds later, her screen lit up and Brittany's familiar ringtone blasted out. She stared stupidly for a second before walking robotically back to the bed and scooping her phone into her hands. She took a deep breath. She shifted her hand to answer, but she couldn't do it.

She couldn't move.

_Missed Call_ flashed onto the screen.

* * *

><p>Monday was awful.<p>

She skipped early morning practice and first period and spent both of them in a McDonald's parking lot, drinking too much black coffee and texting Puck. He was making her laugh and that was something, even if his messages were unrelentingly vulgar. Her car rumbled into the parking lot a little before nine and she breezed past Figgins with a forced, flirty wink. He turned an unattractive bright red and stumbled down the hall, but he didn't give her detention.

She managed to get through three classes and a barrage of questions from Quinn- which she dodged with a swift: "And what exactly happened at Puck's Friday night?"- before she saw Brittany. She was stuffing her books into her messy locker when a splash of blonde hair and a familiar smile appeared at her side. She didn't turn around, even though she could smell Brittany's perfume and see her smile falter from the corner of her eye. Brittany hesitated, and Santana's whole body was tense.

"Hey, what happened to you this weekend?" The words weren't as light as Brittany meant them to be. Santana finally turned and when she looked at Brittany- really _looked_ at her –everything she had been fighting all weekend came spilling back to her. Her grip on her books tightened and when Brittany reached out, a pinky subtly offered, the feelings, hard and scared and angry, filled up her gaze. Brittany must have seen it in her eyes, because her smile slid away and her shoulders slumped down.

"Oh." Her voice was barely a whisper and it was drowned out by the crowd, but Santana imagined she could hear Brittany- the hurt in her voice must have matched the awful look on her face. She pulled her pinky back and it broke Santana's heart, right there in the middle of the McKinley hallway, their matching uniforms bright under the glare of the florescent, Brittany staring hopelessly at her like the scene was suddenly going to change. It really hurt her for the first time in her life, tight under her ribs, like she couldn't breathe.

Santana wimped out first, like- god, like she did every time Brittany made her feel something she didn't want to- and turned back to her locker. She shut it with a final click and looked down at the books in her arms. When she finally lifted her gaze, Brittany was nowhere to be found. The sharp spike of tears threatened in her eyes, but Santana just glared and walked away from her locker.

If her shoulder found some freshmen's with enough force to knock him over, well then, so be it.

She skipped glee practice that afternoon and actually found herself looking forward to Rachel's rant. She already had a slew of insults on the tip of her tongue, ready to lash out the moment the girl walked up.

For now, though, she walked outside with the final bell and went home to spend the evening staring at her phone like it was going to forgive her for the venom in her heart and in the back of her mouth.

* * *

><p>Tuesday was the same.<p>

She showed up half an hour early to practice in the morning and ran an extra five miles for missing the day before, complained of a stomach ache and skipped out before anyone else showed up, then hid in the Cheerios longue until the second bell rang. The hiding was getting easier but Brittany seemed to appear wherever Santana went. She was at every turn, in every almost empty bathroom, fixing her hair in the otherwise deserted locker room. The uncomfortable ache in Santana's chest grew every time they ran into each other and Brittany simply walked away. For the first time in her life, she spent her lunch hour out in the parking lot with her back against her convertible, scared of the off-chance that Brittany might to sit at the Cheerios table.

When their eyes met across the hall, Brittany looked away first, every single time, and it made Santana feel small and inconsequential. They had become best friends in less than three weeks and had reverted to strangers in the span of three minutes.

Tuesday afternoon she forced herself to go to Cheerios practice, lest Coach Sylvester actually take one of her crucial organs. She changed silently next to Brittany, her back to the other Cheerio, and when she turned to leave she caught of glimpse of perfect bare skin that made her hot with shame. She ran it off, leading the pack at a killer pace around the track, every burning flash of anger propelling her further down the tar. They finally stopped to stretch, Coach's screams falling on conditioned ears. Santana, sweat dripping down her forehead to land on her tennis shoe, looked up to see Quinn staring. Her immediate thought was to look away but she had taught herself better than that years ago. She didn't back down from the other girl's gaze until Coach ordered them onto the field.

It didn't surprise her when Quinn caught her by her car after practice. She had skipped a shower in the hopes of avoiding her captain, but Quinn must have seen it coming because she was leaning casually against Santana's ride when she limped her way into the parking lot.

_Fuck_. Santana thought, and steeled herself.

"I think four days of silence is more than enough, don't you?" Quinn's eyes, almost always frosty, were nearing arctic. Santana paused, shifting the shoulder strap of her Cheerios bag, regarding Quinn silently for a moment. She seemed unbelievably familiar because Santana had been avoiding her for the past four days. She was Santana's best friend and they'd never kept anything from each other- it had always been Santana and Quinn against the world, even when they were at each other's throats, even when they were clawing desperately for the same things. They'd always had each others' backs. Santana didn't know anything else.

Finally, she relaxed.

"Get in. I'll give you a ride home."

Quinn smirked.

* * *

><p>They sat on Quinn's back porch, sipping on Mrs. Fabray's sugarless iced raspberry tea. Santana was painfully uncomfortable, as she always was at the Fabrays'. Its suffocating formality had lessened considerably since Russell Fabray had ran off with his secretary, but Judy Fabray's resulting downward spiral had pushed the sadness in the house to awful levels.<p>

Santana stared at the perfectly clipped back lawn and thought back to when they were kids and Quinn's backyard was the equivalent of a stage, grand and endless and a safe haven for them.

"Brittany told me she was thinking about quitting the Cheerios." Quinn hadn't touched her drink and Santana wondered if she was thinking just as hard. The words made her stomach sink.

"We're not really friends anymore." Santana said simply, trying to head off any other questions. She couldn't talk about Brittany.

"Well, that was fast." Quinn snarked, but there was no real menace in her tone. "Is it because I was being such a bitch? Because I really don't care, I was just taking my own shit out on you." Quinn found her eyes and there was hard honesty in her words.

"No, we just-" Santana felt the truth pulling at the edges of her skin, trying to let itself out, but she clamped down on it. "She wasn't who I thought she was." She amended lamely. "What happened with you at Puck's, anyway? I was way too drunk and the memories are kind of blurry."

Quinn sat back and her eyebrows dipped, just a little, in concentration. She shot one look at Santana, as if contemplating, and then looked back out at the yard.

"I was talking to Rachel about – some things. About Finn, really." She hesitated, then spoke with finality. "Rachel's really not so bad." Santana was mildly surprised- firstly, that they had talked about Finn, and secondly, at the uncharacteristic hesitation Quinn seemed to be wading through. She shrugged in acquiescence.

"You're the one who always felt like impaling her with something. I'm glad you've finally seen the light, because that dwarf is our only chance at winning Regionals." Quinn smiled crookedly and nodded.

"Anyway, we just- I don't know, talked. I was a little drunk and she-" Quinn cut herself off in that natural way she had somehow perfected, but Santana could see right through it. She waited, her mind flickering through of host of possibilities. Something seemed to snap into place, because Quinn's back straightened and her eyes found Santana's. "I kissed her."

The world temporarily stopped spinning.

Santana thought, immediately, of kissing Brittany and she wondered for a second if it was a joke- a giant joke Quinn was playing on her.

"You what." Santana stated, her tone flat. Quinn was staring at her impassively, a mirror image of the nonplussed expression on Santana's face.

"It just happened and I don't even know if it means anything, but that's what happened at Puck's Friday night." Quinn stated formally. She seemed to think it was her duty to tell Santana, but Santana kind of wished she hadn't. What the hell? She thought about kissing Brittany and the ice cold fear it sparked in her, and then she thought about Quinn and her empty house and the unwavering ferocity with which she faced each day.

"Well, fuck. That's new."

Quinn's expression softened into a look of relief. Her eyes said things that would never, ever leave her mouth. Santana took a sip of tea just to ease the tension.

"Anyway, what happened to you? I heard you sexually assaulted Puck in the kitchen." Santana's eyebrows shot up in shock and disgust and she made a face.

"Uh, hell no. I was drunk and he followed me. Less than nothing happened. Besides, Brittany walked in three seconds after we did." Her face had remained scrunched up in disgust, but it softened when she mentioned Brittany's name. Quinn watched her carefully.

"You know, San, you've been my best friend for a long time." Quinn started, her tone painfully cautious. "And we're very different, but we're also way too similar. And if you ever needed to-" Santana suddenly realized where Quinn was going with this. Her body tensed perceptibly, her eyes narrowing slightly in defense.

"Thanks, I got it, Fabray. Let's cut the mushy shit." Santana literally couldn't meet Quinn's gaze. Quinn set her glass down and narrowed her eyes a little.

"What is up with you? I haven't seen you this weird and evil since Puck spent a week trying to stick his hand up your skirt in sixth grade."

"What? I wasn-"

"And I don't even mean right now, or about earlier." Quinn cut her off. "Mercedes told me you shoved some freshman down in the hallway. Ms. Pillsbury's car got keyed and it wasn't Puck this time. Principal Figgins got locked out of his office twice today." Quinn had been ticking the list off on her fingers and she held her hand up in evidence. Santana rolled her eyes.

"We're Cheerios, it's what we're supposed to do."

"Yeah, but _we've_ never been like that. Especially not since we joined Glee Club. We practically cut the slushies in half when I made captain." She was staring at Santana like she could see straight inside her and it made Santana's skin crawl uncomfortably. She could tell Quinn- but then it would be out there. Their kiss would be out there and in the open for anyone to come by and make fun of, tear apart. Tear _her_ apart. The same way she was turning Quinn's information around in her head, judging and questioning. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and when she let go, something sharp was angling inside of her.

"There's nothing up with me. You're the one who's lost your fucking mind- kissing Rachel Berry-" All of her walls had swung right into place. Santana grabbed her phone and keys off the table. "I'm going home. Call me when you remember where you left your _cajones_."

She took three steps toward the door before Quinn's hand took hold of her arm and spun her back around.

"You better not tell anyone." Quinn's eyes were blazing.

"I thought you knew me better than that." Santana growled back, and she pulled free of Quinn's grip. Quinn let her go, but her carefully controlled voice chased Santana into the house.

"I thought I did, too."

Her words clung to Santana's skin like a heavy coat, weighing her down as she hurried to her car. Once she was safely inside, she bounced her fist off the steering wheel in frustration. She hadn't meant to lose her cool like that, but lately she felt like a mass of volatile emotions, just waiting to be let loose. One wrong word and she was spitting knives.

It took her five minutes to calm down enough to drive, but even as she pulled into her own driveway she felt like the ground was slipping out from underneath her.

* * *

><p>Santana wouldn't have believed that a Cheerio could learn how to fade into the background as easily as Brittany did, but she managed it somehow. It was probably a blessing, because every time Santana saw her something heavy and hot and vengeful settled on her chest and she felt it spilling everywhere out of her. It seeped into her gaze, the emotion hitting Brittany right in the face until her features crumpled and her eyes turned down.<p>

The awful thing was, once all that emotion was out, Santana just felt empty. Like there was nothing there to begin with.

She tried to quit going to art class, like she had for the first few days, but there was something traitorous in her heart that wanted her to show up early and spend the whole class staring at the back of Brittany's head. The first day she had walked in, she took a seat at their usual table, half-hoping in a stupid, sick way that Brittany would sit next to her anyway. But Brittany walked in and picked a spot beside the German foreign exchange student.

Santana quit working on anything resembling an art project and spent the period with her chin on her hands, sneaking glances at Brittany's straight back, her long legs.

She hated herself, a little.

Brittany never once turned back to look at her.

* * *

><p>The rest of the week sucked, too. At least Quinn was talking to her, even if she spent most of AP History trying to flirt with Rachel, despite the girl's strict 'no talking in class' policy. Art class sucked, Cheerio practice sucked, lunch sucked- if she was honest with herself, they sucked because she had to see Brittany and she had to see Brittany <em>not<em> see her. She was the only thing on Santana's mind and it seemed as if Santana had passed out of hers entirely.

She got detention for writing a dirty Spanish poem on Shuester's chalk board in Spanish, but it was Shuester detention so she spent the whole time smacking loudly on her gum and texting Tina while Mr. Shue sent her pleading looks. Puckerman, fully impressed with her "overnight stones" kept trying to get her to sneak into the janitor's closet with him, even after she locked him in there by himself. Sam flitted on the edges of her perception, nodding to her in the hallway but keeping his distance. The rest of the Glee Club seemed thoroughly confused at her rebellion but no one seemed to connect it with the fact that she and Brittany now sat on opposite sides of the room.

If anything, at least Brittany could keep her mouth shut.

* * *

><p>She walked into school Friday morning sporting the same toxic attitude she'd been owning all week, a huge, cold Cherry slushie in one hand. Lauren was at her side, filling her in on another of Puck's pathetic attempts to ask her out. Santana sipped delicately at the flavored ice, one eye out for an unlucky target. She was laughing meanly when she rounded a corner and saw it.<p>

It was nothing, really. But her laugh ended abruptly and Lauren gave her a weird look.

"I'll catch you later, Zizes." Santana dismissed her. Lauren raised her eyebrows, but one of her wrestling buddies slung an arm around her shoulder and she was easily distracted.

At the end of the hall, Brittany was grinning down at Artie and holding a handful of daisies Santana had just watched him give her. He was smiling back, his hands clenching nervously on his wheels.

The jealousy that flared inside her was volatile.

She walked quickly into an empty classroom and, after making sure it was deserted, peeked out and back down the hall. Brittany was cradling her books in her arms and nodding along to whatever Artie was babbling on about. Santana never knew she could feel so possessive over anything, much less another person. The emotion was laced so tightly into her bones, steeling her tendons. She thought about Artie kissing her- about Brittany dancing on him at Puckerman's party- and the idea made her want to cry and hit something and throw up all at the same time. Her eyes narrowed in an attempt to push back the tears. She honestly couldn't tell if they were from anger or disappointment.

Finally, Brittany gave a little wave and walked away. Artie watched her go, smiling goofily to himself. Santana's stomach turned ice cold with nervous determination, something hard in her chest. She didn't know what she could do, just knew she had to do _something_.

He was wheeling down the hall, still smiling stupidly to himself, and she took a step out of the doorway, her eyes narrowing. She was coming for him, she was going to say _something_- she didn't know what, it didn't matter, she just had to make him feel the way she did every night before she went to bed, like she didn't even know who she was -and maybe this wasn't even about him-

They were a few steps apart when Santana edged around a group of freshmen. There was a yell and a flash of movement to her left, a freshman guy stumbling out of the pack. She stepped away as quickly as she could but it wasn't fast enough and he toppled sideways into her, his elbow catching her hand. She was tumbling forward, seeing what was going to happen before it did, and then a cup full of freezing, colored ice was dumped into Artie's shocked face. It ran down his neck and pooled in his chair and the whole hallway was suddenly silent, Santana's heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears. He stared blindly up at her from his Slushie-smeared glasses, his mouth gaping open.

The hall erupted again, a mass of kids laughing and pointing at the shock on Artie's face. Santana schooled her own face into indifference and stood stock still in front of him for a moment, every inch of her frozen, and her face blank. She was unwilling to leave him like this and unwilling to lose face in front of anyone.

Finally, she turned on her heel and walked down the hall, away from him.

When she rounded the corner, the empty plastic Big Gulp fell from her hand and hit the tile, spraying tiny red droplets across the dirty floor.

* * *

><p>She skipped the next two classes in the Cheerio longue, flicking through the cable blankly, the pit in her stomach gnawing incessantly at her. She smelled like Cherry slushie and the familiar odor made her think about Brittany and that first art class. Then, cleaning her off in the far stall in the girl's bathroom, their bodies close. The guilt ran straight through her, like a hot rod through her stomach. She thought about going to find Artie and apologizing but her feet never obeyed and besides, she wouldn't know how to explain.<p>

_Hey, that anger in my eyes was actually meant for you, but I didn't really mean to slushie you. P.S. stay the fuck away from Brittany or I'll steal your wheelchair and lock you in the gym by yourself_.

Flavor Flav flashed before her eyes and she kept clicking. Overhead, the final bell rang at last and she sighed and slid lower on the couch. She was tired. She was tired of being scared and angry at everything. It was exhausting. She just wanted to melt into the couch and pretend like she didn't exist.

Ten minutes later, she finally pushed up off her seat and tossed the remote back on the coffee table

She walked to the locker room with her eyes dead ahead, one hand gripping the strap of her book bag. She wanted to hang her head, she wanted to sulk off to her car, but her pride would never allow it. She pushed the door open with one hand, half-hoping it would slam into some stupid Cheerio, but it only hit the wall hollowly. The locker room was almost empty. She dropped her bag onto the bench and spun the dial on her lock, cursing softly when she passed the numbers twice in her haste.

"Hey, I can totally help you with that." A bright voice piped up from behind her and literally set all of Santana's nerves on edge. She dropped the lock with a heavy clang against the metal and turned to see who was actually trying to speak to her.

The girl had dark brown hair and a quick smile and Santana stared, unimpressed.

"Did I ask for your help?" She asked curtly, and the girl's smile slid from her face. It instantly reminded Santana of Brittany, and her eyes hardened, taking in the girl's shocked, slack-jawed expression. "You look like you're in need of a clue, Terri Schaivo, so let me help you out." She took a step into the girl's personal space. "You are nobody. You're _nothing_. Last week, Coach nicknamed you 'Something'. So why don't you run on outside and brown nose at somebody who _gives a fuck_."

The girl dashed out of the locker room, swiping ineffectively at the tears already running down her face. Santana watched her go impassively, suddenly worn out again. Her stomach felt hollow. She took two steps towards back and then leaned softly against the lockers, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

When she lifted her head, Brittany was standing at the end of the row.

"That was mean." Santana didn't move. "You get mean when you're upset." Brittany was coming closer, something sure and forgiving in her eyes that Santana didn't think she was ready to see. It took more effort than she thought possible, but she steeled her face back into neutrality and stood up straight. Her heart was beating irregularly and she thought, maybe, her nerves were about to short out on her.

She thought about telling Brittany to leave her alone, then telling her to go away, then asking her why.

She settled on: "What do you care." She started to walk toward her locker but Brittany started in the same direction. Santana stumbled to a stop but Brittany kept walking- taking small, cautious steps and watching Santana carefully. Santana's stomach swirled with anticipation, her eyes slowly widening.

"I thought you really didn't like me. But now I think you're just scared." Santana knew the deer-in-the-headlights look on her face probably wasn't disputing that fact. She stood perfectly still as Brittany neared. "I'm sorry." Brittany said quietly, gently enough that Santana wondered if she said it all. "I didn't mean-" She started, and the awful, unsure look on her face was physically painful for Santana to watch.

"Don't." Santana cut in, her voice unexpectedly rough. Brittany's expression was still downtrodden and she continued anyway, a little oblivious to the effect her words were having on Santana.

"I think we should still-" But she looked so beautiful and sad hesitating there and Santana was so tired of tying it all up inside her. Everything she'd been struggling through- it was all right there, reflected back at her from Brittany's eyes.

She stepped forward without meaning to. Something hopeful bloomed in Brittany's eyes.

"No, you were right." Santana managed, the words strained and whispered in the empty locker room. Then Brittany lifted a hand, reaching to her, and Santana fell into the touch, pressing carefully into Brittany's body, their faces nearing. Her arms wound up around the taller girl's neck and she felt wiry arms around her waist.

The weight of the past week melted off of her and she let herself sink into Brittany's touch, mouths nearing so that when she exhaled softly her breath bounced of Brittany's lips. Her eyes flickered up to glance into Brittany's and then shot back down to Brittany's soft mouth and before she could pause or drown in fear, she was kissing her again, harder than the first time, with all of her carefully constrained want. Brittany kissed her back without hesitation, pulling her closer and leaning back against the locker. One hand ran up Santana's back and the other settled warmly on her waist, dipping under cloth to brush skin and Santana sighed helplessly into the kiss, their lips brushing wetly.

Brittany turned her, rolling until Santana's back was against the locker, and their bodies pressed impossibly closer, Santana's breathing hitched. She bit Brittany's softly lip in response, tugging at it, and Brittany made a tiny hum of approval into her mouth and Santana suddenly felt like herself again. The pieces fell back into place. Brittany was holding her together, kissing her gently, and she had to pull away for a moment to catch her breath.

She panted against Brittany's neck, still pulling her closer, and finally felt like she could breathe again.

* * *

><p>Santana stacked her History book in the back of her locker and shut it, spinning the lock once. The hallway was slowly filling with students as the clock neared eight. Sporting a fresh bruise from Cheerios practice and a tiny smile she couldn't seem to erase, Santana slipped through the throngs of people.<p>

The arts hallway was littered with the familiar anime-Asian kids and slender dancers, but Santana walked past them as if they weren't there. She walked into the art classroom just as the first bell rang and her teacher looked up in surprise. He openly stared for a moment as she went to find her seat but, after blinking twice like a moron, finally went back to his paperwork.

Santana dropped her bags at the side of the table and sat down, folding her fingers into a triangle on the table. One by one, kids filtered into the classroom, yawning sleepily, texting. Santana waited patiently.

Finally, about three seconds after the last bell had rung, Brittany came swinging through the classroom door; a blur of carefully controlled chaos, as usual. Her eyes locked with Santana and a warm smile bloomed onto her face. She aimed directly for their desk, not even glancing at the stupid foreign exchange student. As she slid into her seat, their teacher began to drone on at the front of the classroom.

Underneath the table, she linked her pinkie with Santana's and pretended she couldn't see the beautiful blush that appeared on the girl's face.


End file.
